Someday
by Lioness1
Summary: After William Wallace was tortured and killed, the patriots of Scotland rose together to defy Longshanks at Bannockburn. This is the tale of Aris, nobly born, and led by a profound guilt to stand up to tyranny. Chap 9 up!
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note- This is my second Wallace fic. This is actually more so a fiction story based on events leading up to the Battle at Bannockburn in 1314. It still has parts of the movie Braveheart in it, but while my first Braveheart fic was about a Scottish common girl who bled with Wallace, this is the tale of a noble English lady trying to find her own strength through the help of William and Robert the Bruce. Hopefully you'll like it.

Chapter One: A dream that could still be

"The prisoner wishes to say a word…" The cardinal proclaimed, a smirk forming along his upper lip as he relished in his conquest of breaking the prisoner.

A glorious word resonated from the mouth of the bleeding prisoner, his voice harsh and cracking, but every soul who watched could understand what he had said. Tingles shivered down my spine into every limb of my being. My eyes glazed for a man I did not know, and as the axe came down my own heart bled with feeling, for I had heard the tales of this man. This warrior who had rallied his people to stand against our ruthless king. This brave heart.

The crowd stood motionless, unsure of what they were experiencing. We were told that this man had been a savage murderer, a treasonous scoundrel who raped women and killed children. But as we watched him die, every single one of us could feel deception in those stories. And so, without mockery and praise, the crowd dispersed the scene, ready to go home and eat supper with their families, while in the back of their minds thanking God that this man had stood up to the crown, because we were too cowardly to do so ourselves. I had willed myself to watch as the axe came down. Something inside me had told me I had to see. I looked on to his face, and was surprised to see him smiling, his eyes glistening towards someone in the crowd. When the axe had fallen, I put my hand to my mouth to keep from crying out.

"Away from the window." My mother said casually. I had watched the execution from the tower in London, though my parents had refused to do the same. "A noble lady should not see such barbarous things. You must be kept pure, Aris." she said, sniveling her nose and shutting the door behind me. I had never seen a man die before, let alone tortured. I turned back to my high view of the courtyard, as the crowd began leaving. Soldiers collected the body as servants began scraping the blood from the platform. As one picked up the head of the fallen warrior, several snickered and began plucking hairs from it dishonorably, their crude remarks leaving me with a feeling of emptiness.

I let one tear slide down my cheek. No one should have to suffer as he did. I leaned against the window, letting my head rest against it, until two figures caught my eye. They had stood still the entire execution, never shouting or hurling food at the prisoner. From my perch I tilted my head as one of them reached the end of the platform. I squinted my eyes to see the fellow slowly pick up a small cloth that Wallace had dropped. The man quickly walked away, so as not to arouse suspicion. He gave the cloth to his red bearded bulky friend, who gently placed the cloth to his forehead, his eyes closed in remembrance. That same tingling sensation shot through my body. These were his friends, my mind told me.

A knock on the door disturbed my thoughts. "Pardon me, milady, but supper is served downstairs."

Wiping away the tear that had stained my cheek, I attempted a smile. "Right. Thank you Branwain." Amid the laughter and eating I sat silently, my face set in stone, my mind reliving what I had just witnessed.

Mother turned to me. "Dear, you're not eating. Do you feel alright?"

I could not look at her. In my mind I could only see his piercing blue eyes as the had gazed into the crowd, searching for someone. "Perhaps someday" I muttered, and she did not hear me. They never hear me.

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"The lady Aris of Perth" the speaker commented, as my escort took my hand and led me into the ballroom of the castle. It was my eighteenth birthday, in the year of our Lord 1312. My father, Duke Gareth of Perth, had been given the Scottish post in 1308. After the death of Wallace in 1305, his martyrdom had become legendary, and in 1306 the Scots had declared Sir Robert the Bruce their king. The Scottish Rebellion against the crown of England had not died along with Wallace. The Bruce had defeated the English several times, and he controlled all of Scotland north of the River Tay. Just two years ago, he had taken over Linlithgow and Dumbarton, and word had reached my father that the Bruce had planned to regain Perth once his forces were strong enough.

The move from London to Scotland had not been easy. My only brother had taken ill on the journey and died. Several weeks later my mother, who had never been an easy woman to love, died of grief. My father was heartbroken and left with only myself and my younger sister as heirs. The time for marriage was at hand, for father's own health was steadily deteriorating. I defied him at first, refusing to marry the first noble father chose. My sister gave into it, and now she writes me in Edinburgh, where she is currently pregnant with her cruel husband's offspring. I did not want that life.

Three months ago, my father had had enough of my silliness. "You are making a mockery of me by refusing every courtier! My debt is growing with this cursed war, and I must have a wealthy benefactor to take over if you are to stay noble, Aris! I am arranging a ball, and on your eighteenth birthday I will announce my successor!"

For three months I locked myself away in the library, refusing to join father for suppers, immersing myself in literature. When father was away for business, I often snuck off to the stables and stole our prized mare, racing off the castle grounds. I have never known freedom. And after tomorrow, when my husband shall be announced, I will be locked into a loveless marriage from which my sole purpose will be to produce an heir.

Our debt was growing due to the rising costs of supplies and men we had forfeited to the crown, due to the Scottish Rebellion. My father took out his anger on our serfs, often chaining and torturing a few as examples when our crops failed. He hated the Scots. He hated his post here in Perth. Once I had snuck down to the south chambers…a place I was not allowed to go. I hid behind a wall, but could here a man screaming in agony only a few feet away as a whip cracked against his skin menacingly over and over again.

"Please milord, I have done nothing…" he pleaded.

"You're a scout for Robert the Bruce, that's what you are. I won't let Perth fall like Dumbarton. Guards!" My father raged, his eyes fiery with revulsion. "Take him to the lake. Make sure his body is not found, I don't want the others to turn on me."

"No sire! I haven't done anything wrong! Please! Please!" he pleaded, tears flooding his face. I wanted to stand up, I wanted to tell father there was no reason for this….but I did nothing. Fear had overtaken me.

A few months ago I once more began to see father for what he truly was: a monster with power, a man called noble because of his title, not his morals. My servant had come crying to my room, begging me to stop him.

"What's the matter Bree? What has happened?" It took a good minute for her to calm down and let the words escape her lips.

"Its my sister, Lady Aris. Lord Gareth has evoked the right of prima nocte, and she has refused! Lord Gareth executed Sean….my brother in law…all because he wouldn't let her share a bed with him on the night of her wedding!"

This had to be some sort of ruse. "Bree I don't understand. Prima nocte was banned years ago…there's no way father could…"

But her tears told the truth. "King Robert the Bruce banned it, my lady. Lord Gareth does not answer to him…" By now she could barely make out a whisper in her words. She looked back up at me, something she was never supposed to do. "I beg you, milady. I have been good to you since you arrived at Perth. I do not ask for much, but please….my sister is all I have. I don't know what I'd do without…without…"

"Shhh…" I comforted, taking her arms into mine. With my fingers I placed a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. "I won't let father harm her. You'll see….it will all be made right." If only that were true. Father would not speak with me, and that evening I watched as he took her into his bed, her cries heard throughout the castle.

A few days later, as Bree fiddled with the fire, I spoke. "I…I'm sorry I could not stop him" my voice cracked. She stopped what she was doing, and stared hard into my eyes.

"You tried, milady. That is more than any noble has done." But I could have tried harder.

"Is she alright? Your sister?"

As the fire began to crackle, Bree wiped off the soot on her apron. "She will not speak to me….to anyone."

"I am truly sorry, Bree."

"The English have been raping and ravaging our country for a hundred years, milady. It is not you who is responsible."

I paused for a moment, and as she turned to leave, I called out to her. "Wait. Come here." Taking her hands into mine, I stared into her distressing pupils. "The only thing worse than evil is when good people do nothing to stop it. I cannot erase what my father has done, Bree….but one day…I am sure of it.…one day I will not let the suffering of your people endure, not at the hands of my father atleast."

-------

Once my name was called, I walked down the stairs in my elegant new dress that father had spent a lot of money getting. According to my servant, I looked rather fetching. Funny really, I felt rather wretched. The ball had begun.

As the courtiers began one by one asking me to dance, I looked over at my father, who was smirking with delight.

"You seem nervous." One duke commented as he took my hand. I did not answer, but smiled the way my father wanted me to smile. I let him dance with me for two songs, and then moved on to the next chap. After five courtiers I began to grow weary with boredom.

"May I have this dance?" Another interjected, but this one surprised me. His accent was most assuredly Scottish, and father had clearly stated I was to only marry an English born noble. I grinned, knowing this would be the best way to defy father.

"Certainly, milord." The man was young, most likely a few years older than me and quite handsome with his misty blue eyes. He had pulled back his rich brown hair, but when it was down I suppose it would reach his shoulders. As he took my hand into his, I noticed his strong grip, quite different from the other courtiers. And as we danced, he improperly stared at me the entire time, in utter curiousness. But with that curiosity came a distinct trace of fear that he did not want to show. I found my own eyes illicitly staring back, and it was as if our eyes were playing a game of their own as we waltzed.

"You are quite a fair dancer" he said after two songs.

"You do not have two left feet yourself. I am quite tired, perhaps you would not mind a break?" I asked as he escorted me off the dance floor. He took me out onto the balcony as the ball progressed onward. It was a breezy night in Perth, still warm considering it was in winter season.

"Something tells me you don't want to be here right now." He stated bluntly, sitting beside me on a bench.

I chuckled. "And what makes you think that? I have done nothing but smile and laugh the entire night."

He searched my face in a most uncomfortable manner, raising an eyebrow. "You have an art for deception."

It was my turn to furrow my brow. "You are most forthright."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Forgive me. I do not mean to pry. But its curious to see such a beautiful young noble hide behind a smile."

For a moment I was speechless, unsure of how to react to this. "It is rude to make assumptions. And this coming from a boy has yet to introduce himself."

He grinned, showing off one dimple in his left cheek. "You never asked."

"It is not my place to ask. It is for you to tell immediately after dancing with a lady. That is the proper way of introductions."

He chuckled and came close to my ear. "Something tells me you defy proper principles, milady" he whispered.

Shocked by his unnerving answer, I got up and stood with my arms crossed.

"I have half a mind to return to the dance, instead of taking this rude abuse!"

He continued to sit and looked back into the ballroom. "Would you rather return inside and dance with those fellas?"

I looked back to see a wave of courtiers eagerly awaiting my return in hopes of getting a dance. I groaned, infuriated by my choices.

He smiled once more. "Care for a ride?"

"I am not here to go galloping off with some stranger I barely know into the forest when I have guests waiting!"

He finally stood. "I suppose not. But if I introduce myself, will you stop calling me a stranger?"

I put my hands to my hips. "I care not for your name, sir." Inside I desperately wanted to know.

"I am Patrick, Cousin to the Earl of Henshire."

"Henshire? Why I am friends with the daughter of the Earl of Henshire…she….she does not have any cousins…" I stated, confused by his answer. With my response his smile quickly faded, and was that nervousness I saw?

"Yes, well, second cousin twice removed, that sort of thing. If you would excuse me, milady."

As he left the balcony, he whisked himself into the ballroom until I could see him no more. Confused by his baffling behavior, but not wanting to return quite yet, I remained on the balcony, overlooking the lake. Inside I heard nothing but music and laughter, as if this was supposed to be some festive occasion. I sighed, letting the wind wrap its arms around me. Oh, to be free. To leave this prison of nobility and seek adventure as a commoner. Suddenly I heard voices down below, as many silent shadows swiftly moved toward the tower. Suspicious, I leaned my head over to see about twenty men huddling below, swords out.

Inside I could hear ladies begin to scream. "Their storming the gates!"

I ran back inside, desperately seeking my father. I found one of the servants and asked where he was.

"I do not know, milady. Robert the Bruce is right outside the castle gates, demanding our surrender!"

"Does father know they have already breached the wall and have men awaiting by the north tower?"

"The north tower? What do you mean?" he asked, and my heart began to race. Father only thought they were coming from the South gate, which meant someone from the inside had snuck in the others.

I ran as fast as I could through the halls, running up the stairs. No one knew of the insider presence.

On top of the gate my father stood with his archers, looking down on none other than Robert the bruce himself.

"Lower your gate, Duke of Perth, and you and your guests will live. I wish for no bloodshed to take place tonight. You may even take your belongings with you back to England, but I will regain this land."

"You insolent bastard!" father screamed back. "I will have none of this! Archers!" he shouted, as the archers released their arrows. A battering ram was brought out as the Bruce retreated behind his men unharmed.

"father!" I called.

"Aris! What are you doing out here? Get down below this instant!"

Two of his men took hold of me. "No Father! You must listen! The Scots have already breached the castle! They are in the north tower!"

But he was already walking away. I pleaded with the guards, but they brought me to the dining hall along with the other guests as I wrestled to get out of their grip. Some of the ladies were crying, as the noblemen tried to comfort them.

"We must leave this area. Come, we can go to the east corridor where there is a secret path down to the lake. Hurry!" I exclaimed.

One of the noblemen scoffed. "Milady come back. We will fight off these barbarians. There is no reason to worry."

Quite annoyed with the way everyone was treating me, I slinked away from the dining hall and made my way towards the library undetected. I could feel the shaking of the walls due to the battering ram. Inside the library one of the shelves could be opened, and from there I lurked into the eastern armory. By now I could here fits of yelling above me. "They're inside." I exclaimed to myself.

Though I had never used a weapon in my life, I took one of Father's swords, and placed a dagger inside my corset. The screaming got louder. I made my way from the armory upstairs to my room, where I looked out the window. The Scots must have opened the gate from the inside, because the battering ram had been abandoned. Scores of Scots raced their way through the main gate, crushing my father's forces.

A part of me froze. This is my chance…I could leave and never be the wife to some pig of a husband…this idea grew within me, and I used this moment to change out of my dress and into a simple trousers and tunic. Putting on my boots, I began loading a few coins and jewelry into my bag, along with my dagger. My sword I wore in its sheath on my belt. Hurredly I ran from my room and slipped past a few guardsmen fighting the Scots. I took the east corridor to the secret path…entering below the castle into the cave that led to the lake. Along the cave I became more and more resolved to this notion. I could be free.

I made my way to the stables undetected, and inside the horses were restless. I quickly saddled father's fasted mare, and opened the door. Outside I could see part of the castle burning, and fear rose within me. Though I certainly did not like my father, I did not want to see our innocent guests hurt.

It could easily be said that the Bruce had won back the castle. A part of me wanted to return, to make sure everyone was alright….but if I returned I would go back to England with my father, terribly in debt and married to the first courtier that came along. Suddenly I realized I was not alone. Ten men opened the stable door and proceeded to take the horses out. I hid inside, desperately hoping not to get caught.

"Easy as pie, that was. Think his Majesty will spare the Duke?" one spoke.

"Doubtful. I've heard quite a number of stories about this man. He's particularly fond of torturing his peasants." another answered. My heartbeats were getting faster and faster as the men came closer to my stall. Give me strength Lord, I prayed, my hands shaking.

"What's this? This horse is all tacked and ready-"

I emerged from my hiding place, knocking one man to the ground with my elbow as I ran to the exit door. A man from behind me gripped my wrist, and I kicked him in the stomach, forcing him to let me go. "Its just a stable boy, lads, don't hurt him." One exclaimed.

I unsheathed my sword and gritted my teeth, praying they would get out of the way. As four closed in on me, I slashed it wildly, I think scraping the arm of one. I ran back to the horse that was saddled and mounted him. Kicking him fiercely, I charged at the remaining men who blocked the door. One of the soldiers took the blunt part of his blade and hit my stomach, causing me to fall to the ground. Pain shot through my head, I think I had landed on it. But I would not go down. I know what soldiers do to women after pillaging a castle. I would not be a victim. I tried to get up and began to slash my dagger violently in every direction.

As one grabbed hold of me, I drove a small cut into his leg. All the while the door opened once more, admitting more men into the stable. Another grabbed hold and punched me square in the eye. I tried to fight back, and as I turned around to face another foe I felt something sharp pierce my side. I looked into his eyes, and it was obvious he had not meant for me to run into his blade. The pain was not as bad as I had imagined. But it was hard to stay awake. Two men slowly helped me to the ground.

"Twas an accident" the boy who had stabbed me said. My head hurt fiercely, and my eyes began to close.

"Easy does it lads. Fireball little warrior, ain't he? Luckily the wound ain't deep." By now the pain had increased, and I wanted to slap the man who said that. They think I'm a boy? Surely I did not look that bad…

"We won the siege! The castle is ours!" One man stated as he entered the stables.

"Get some bandages…"

"Aris?" I heard, and turned my head slightly to the right. Patrick had just entered, his face bloody as he held his sword. My eyes narrowed at such treachery, and I found my head getting lighter as darkness claimed me.

_The mists surrounded me as I walked along the streets of London. I made my way to the empty courtyard and up onto the platform. The cold air left me shivering as my teeth chattered. I looked down on the cross, down at a man whose body was covered with blood. I knew him from somewhere, as if it were a dream. I looked down at his body, but I was not afraid. His eyes were closed, but I knew they were a vibrant blue. In his right hand was a small piece of cloth, stained with blood from a love long dead. Slowly I let my hand touch his cheek. It was surprisingly warm. I let my knees fall onto the platform, as I traced my fingers along his face. I don't know why, but tears began to fall from my eyes unto the floor, shattering the wood beneath. I let my forehead sink unto his chest, hearing my own heartbeat resonating loudly. I picked up the cloth, and rightfully placed it on his heart. The mist began to open along the courtyard as the wind blew fiercely. Standing back up, I turned to leave. A hand touched my shoulder, and as I turned around I had to look up in order to see his face. He stared long and hard into my eyes, searching my soul as if I was naked. In his piercing gaze I could find sorrow, guilt, angst, hope, and faith. As his warm hand caressed my cheek, I succumbed to my emotions and placed my arms around his back, embracing him tightly as the tears began to fall once more. "I watched you die. I watched as they laughed and tore you apart. I let it all happen."_

_His voice was just as I had expected, rough and certain. "There was nothing you could have done. It needed to happen."_

_"I have let my family play the role of oppressor. I do not wish to have this title."_

_"And yet you are what you are. The question is, how can you use your title to do good?"_

_I let go of the embrace and looked up into his eyes once more as I sniffled. "I do not understand. Why can't I just flee and live the life I always wished?"_

_He smiled and placed his hand under my chin. "Never run away from your problems. Embrace it, and fight for your liberty. Hiding only brings shame."_

_Biting my lower lip, I nodded. He nodded back, and turned to go. "William?" I called._

_He turned his head. "I…I'm sorry you did not win your freedom."_

_He grinned. "You have a long journey ahead. And one day you'll realize what freedom is."_

_He began t walk away, and soon the mist surrounded him, leaving me alone once more to dwell on our encounter._

"Aris….Aris…" a voice called out, as the sun made its way up the sky. The mist was leaving…..

"Aris" the voice sounded once more, and slowly I began to open my eyes. It was blurry at first, but soon I could make out a boy with misty blue eyes.

"Patrick…." I whispered, my consciousness fully regained. Pain shot through my body, and I let out a small whimper as I winced.

He took my hand. "Your alright. Your safe."

"You betrayed us…" I said, my voice hoarse and scratchy. Water was given to my lips, and I drank a little.

He sighed deeply. "It wasn't supposed to be like this, I assure you."

"Where's my father?"

"He's fine. Him and the others were sent back to England with a message to your king. Now, no more questions. You must rest."

He placed his hand on my forehead. "You have a fever."

"Take your hand off me sir, or I shall remove it myself."

"Little fireball, this one…" the same man called from a few feet away. It took me a moment, but I realized I was in my bedchamber in Perth. "Took us five men to bring her down…" he chuckled. "The Almighty says she's a lucky girl."

A knock on the door. "King Robert the Bruce approaches" One of the men said.

He was taller than I expected, with rich brown hair, though a few strands of gray were beginning to form. His eyes were big and kind, unlike the descriptions the English soldiers had given. He knelt next to me and examined my wound. "Forgive my men, Lady Aris, they did not mean to hurt you." He spoke regally, as if his words of forgiveness were true.

I did not know what to say to it, so I simply narrowed me gaze and kept my lips shut. He smiled warmly. "Your family and friends are safe. They are on their way back to London as we speak, delivering terms to the king. I expect you will see them in a month or two."

"Am I your prisoner then?"

"Think of it more as our patient. You could not be moved, so we kept you here with us. But do not fear, your father knows you are alive, and I promise, no more harm will come to you."

I looked around, and my eyes caught the man who had kept calling me a little fireball. I had seen him once before…as if in a dream…or another life.

"Your servant Bree claims that you have sympathy for our cause. I assure you, we mean you no harm. We only wish to take back what is rightfully ours." There was passion in his words, and he twitched his left eye often when he spoke.

Once again I began to feel lightheaded, and my vision began to blur. He smiled warmly again, and placed his hand on my forehead. "Rest child. We shall talk more when you are well."

His words were soothing, and it was almost as if I could hear an old song playing a mournful tune as he spoke. I nodded, and let myself once more give in to sleep.

Disclaimer- I own nothing of the movie Braveheart


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The bumps on my skin rose as the treacherous winter wind made its way into the bedchamber. I shuddered, my eyes slowly opening. Feeling around for a blanket, my hands touched what they sought, and soon I managed to wrap it thoroughly around my body. Bloody Scots, I thought, as I winced in pain.

"Och, you're awake!" Bree exclaimed to no one in particular, rushing out the door as fast as she had come in. I drifted in and out of sleep for the next couple of days, as a wave of attendants came back and forth to address my wound or hand me broth. After what I suppose was a week confined to my chambers, I dared venture out into the corridor, only to find that my bedroom had been locked from the outside. No one would speak with me, except Bree, and even she kept her mouth as closed as possible. The next day I refused to eat, demanding to speak to Robert the Bruce.

"Sorry, milady, but his Highness left at dawn. Urgent business, mind ye. Ye ken he's to have us taken to Turnberry Castle, as soon as ye can manage".

_Us?_ "Has the raiding party left as well?" I asked, hoping the answer would be yes. I would have thought this Scottish king would have bigger fish to fry than keeping valuable assets to guard a small English girl.

"Aye. Only a few remain, to escort us into the Highlands". Forgetting my pride, I took the broth she stuck in front of my face.

"I don't particularly have an interest in going north in the freezing winter, Bree." After taking a few sips, I sighed. "I can scarf down a bit of solid food, if the men haven't ate the land barren."

A knock at the door sounded, and Bree rose from her seat next to me and opened it. In walked a young Scot, his eyes an ocean blue, and his chocolate curly hair hanging freely to his shoulder.

"I was beginning to think the wee lass was bedridden for the rest of her days". He flashed us both a smile, as Bree excused herself, but not before giving him a bright grin in return.

I narrowed my eyebrows and stared him down. "I don't suppose you're my escort?"

Patrick pretended to be completely immersed in the trinkets along my fireside mantle. "Hmmpphh? Och, I suppose I am." He was wearing a simple tunic and kilt, a few hairs plucking their way out on his chest. I sat shivering, though I was covered to the teeth in cloth. I saw the goosebumps rise on his finely structured arms as once more the wind blew under the windowsill.

"Branwain says I am to be taken to Turnberry Castle".

At this he looked at me, his head slightly tilted. "Well, don't go believing everything a wee maid says. I dinna suspect His Majesty can afford to send a few of his finest men and horses off gallivanting the countryside to pamper a spoilt English lady. No, today we ride to Dumbarton." To this I raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps this is a bit impertinent- but what the bloody hell are you taking me for?"

He stared at the broth I had set down on my nightstand and piggishly began slurping it. "Ye ken an upstanding king like Robert the Bruce wouldna have the heart to let ye wonder about with rogues and villains around every bend? Don't worry your pretty lil head, lassie. We'll send ye to your family in London when its convenient." He stopped slurping to lick his lips. "Good soup."

Though the wound was healing, it still pained me to get up and walk toward the window. "Why can't I stay here?"

"Cuz ye know where we're headin, of course. We're not daft, child."

"Child? Of all the ingrates-" I swung around to face him. A little too fast for my healing ribs to take. I clutched my side and winced, and gone was his devilishly annoying gaze; it was replaced by a look of pure concern. I saw him reach out his hand, and quickly batted it away. "I'm fine."

He nodded and backed away slightly. He was quite taller than many of the common folk that lived at our estate. Easy to pick out in a crowd.

"I only know where you're heading because you told me" I said, rationally.

"Be that as it may, let's just say the Bruce does not wish to get rid of ye just yet." I didn't say a word, I simply stood with my arms clutching my sides from the cold, with him rudely staring at me. After a few moments he ducked his eyes and scratched the back of his head. "Perhaps I'd best let ye rest before we leave."

Turning to the door, I put a hand on his shoulder. It was surprisingly warm, though the temperature of the room was quite below a comfortable cool.

"Wait. How did you do it?" I asked, curiosity taking over.

"Do what?" he asked honestly. The last time we stood face to face he had had his hand on my hip as he twirled me about on the dance floor. God it seemed longer than a week ago.

Composing my thoughts, I gulped. "At the ball. You spoke without an accent at all. No one had any idea you were a Scot." I did not mean it as a praise, but he grinned widely, showing off a set of teeth white and healthy.

"Ye'd best gather any stuff ye wanna take. We're leaving soon."

It felt rather strange riding away from my home for the past 3 years with a band of Scottish outlaws. _Well, you wanted to leave your father long before this_, a part of me rationed. Yes, well, I was expecting freedom to be a bit different than traveling north as a prisoner with my side stitched up from being stabbed by ruffians. Adventure is most terribly overrated.

The men treated me well enough, allowing me to lay closest to the fire at night and giving me a bit of privacy when I had to relieve myself. Bree spoke to them all amiably in their Gaelic tongue. Dumbarton was a three days hard ride, but with me being wounded I had slowed our progression quite a bit. Every time my side began to ache, I bit my lip- hard. But I did not complain. Bree rode next to me for the most part, and pretended to complain of pains herself so they would stop more often.

On the fourth day, I knew we were almost there, because I was beginning to see fields and streams I had never set foot on. By nightfall, we had reached the top of the hill that almost concealed Dumbarton in the valley below.

"Magnus, ride ahead and alert them of our arrival" Patrick commanded to a man much older than himself. Interesting, I thought.

Two hours later, with my bum sore and my arms tired, I was helped off my mare. Hearing the stories of the Bruce and his revolutionaries, I expected to be taken straight to the dungeon. After all, we were no longer on my father's land, where a certain decency was entitled to me. Pleasantly, though, Branwain proceeded to take me toward the bath chambers; past the many villagers that stopped and stared at me as if I was part of a gypsy freak show and into the castle where the guards eyes me wearily.

The hot water felt like heaven against my freezing exterior, and as the oils were lavishly applied to the hair and skin I realized I had been holding my breath. Letting out a large sigh, I smiled for the first time in…god how long had it been?

As a rich cloth was cloaked around me, Bree accompanied me to my quarters: one of the guest chambers, to be exact. "They're expecting you for dinner" she said, pointing to the crimson dress that lay on my bed.

I had no idea who 'they' were, but hell if I was to do anything but sleep. "Please tell…"them" that I am unable to grant their request."

"Beggin yer pardon, milady, but I don't believe it was a request." Seeing that for the first time I could not order Bree to do anything, I did not object as she began to hand me my shift. Once she had attached the dress (thankfully she was smart enough to tie the corset loosely), she had me look in the looking glass.

"There now, a proper lady again." She pulled the front parts of my hair back, though rebellious curls snuck their way out. Still, I looked myself over. The last time I had worn a dress I was planning on being betrothed the next day. At least now I don't have to worry about getting married. "Although I'm sure such men as these would plan on doing something far worse than marrying me" I said quietly.

Branwain ignored my comment and made her way toward the door.

"Bree?"

"Yes, milady?"

"Why did you come? You could have returned to your sister in the village."

She hesitated for a moment before speaking. "You once did a great favor for me in trying to stop your father. Now it's my turn to do you a service, on my own accord."

The dinner only lasted two hours, but by the time I went to bed my mind was swirling with a thousand thoughts. I had been brought in, my hands a bit shaky as the women eyed me viciously and the men glanced on with looks ranging from scorn to lust. I was placed beside Marjorie Bruce, Robert the Bruce's daughter, a lady of around three and twenty with a pale complexion and a hair of fire. She was friendly enough. She asked me of my health, the journey here, and about my family; though I gathered from her questioning that she was asking for reasons other than polite table manners. The other women were not as good natured.

One of the ladies, a young maiden named Sibhoiun McCulloch, spilled her wine onto my lap as she walked passed. Upon being seated across from me, she listened as Marjorie asked me about my parents.

"My mother died shortly after arriving at Perth."

"Oh dear, she left you behind te deal with the infamous Duke Gareth? Well, one can hardly blame a woman fer wanting to die by her own terms" Lady McCulloch stated, digging her knife into the venison as she spoke, her voice squeaky.

Expecting as much from situation I was in, I kept shut. Instead, I asked, "Is my father really so well known?"

Smiling devilishly, she nodded. "Aye. I had a brother in law who was delivering a message to His Highness, only Duke Gareth's men got to him first. Perhaps tomorrow we could venture to the spot where your lovely father placed his head on a stake?" There was a hate in her eyes as she stared at me, her knife digging harder and harder into the meat. I was at a loss for words.

Marjorie nearly choked on her food, and the Bruce, who had been talking to the men earlier, overheard. "Stephen, perhaps ye could see to it that the Lady McCulloch makes it to her quarters, aye? She's had a tiring day."

The rest of the dinner was fine. I listened as the men talked of this and that, nothing serious in front of me. Marjorie, before retiring to her own chambers gave me a quick squeeze of the hand. "I ken you ain't yer father. I've learned to give people the benefit of the doubt, and I dinna see evil in ye, though my kinsmen might. Dinna worry, my father's goin to let ye go, when the time is right."

I went to bed that night, and dreamed of rising water.

I was never alone over the next few weeks at Dumbarton. The main hulk of the army stayed in the village outside, while the rest of them were unknown to me. Robert the Bruce came and went so often even his own daughter did not know when he was there. I was told I could do as I wish on the grounds of the castle, though an escort would always accompany me. For the first few days I tried staying inside in the spinning and weaving rooms with the other ladies as they sewed; but that did not last long, especially since Sibhoiun made every attempt to make me feel as much an outsider as possible. Marjorie maintained her cordial nature to me, though underneath I'm sure she was trying to ascertain my character. I did not blame any of them. I was an outsider, and by their right they should despise me for the mere fact that I am English. Knowing I needed to escape their prying eyes, I tried seeing if the world outside the castle was a little less hostile. I visited the gardens with Bree, and sometimes watched the men practice honing their weaponry skills in the courtyard.

I leaned against the fence as two large men battled each other, one using his axe; the other, his sword. The man with the axe was rounder than the other. Above his left eye was a scar that ran practically three inches down into his nose. Within a minute he had easily blocked a blow and struck hard down on his opponent, knocking the sword clean off his hand. Applause went up, and the next two hopped the fence to begin their practice. "Good, I see you got a front row seat for this fine exhibition of swordsmanship" a familiar voice whispered in my ear as he swung himself over the fence to begin. He grinned widely at me as he unsheathed his weapon and faced a large, red bearded man.

I rolled my eyes, and hoped he saw. My attention returned to the red head, whose own eyes looked intently at his opponent as he readied himself. He looked strangely familiar. Patrick cracked his neck as he began circling the older man, his feet bouncing back and forth in play.

"Come on, Hamish, knock the wee bairn out!" Someone called from behind me.

The red head chuckled, and initiated the first blow, striking hard and fast at Patrick. Patrick easily deflected the blow, and parried back, shifting his weight onto the back foot. Hamish lunged once more, this time with much more force. Patrick, unable to both block and keep his balance, tripped onto his buttocks, but rolled out of the way of the oncoming sword. A little gasp emerged from my mouth as he barely deflected yet another blow; the older man coming hard and fast on him. Hitting the fence in front of me, he quickly looked back, gave me a wink; and changed his strategy. Taking on the offensive, he lunged forward, striking low. Hamish blocked it, but not before Patrick landed his fist on the man's cheek. A wave of laughter went through the crowd, as Patrick's smile soon vanished as Hamish threw away his sword and grabbed hold of the young lad round his chest, his arms unable to do anything with his sword while he was in Hamish's lock. After a few seconds, Hamish relaxed his grip slightly; enough time for Patrick to dig his foot into his opponent's leg. The grip loosened, and Patrick punched him again in the face; the older man falling backward onto his rump.

Applause once more sounded. Patrick extended his hand out, and Hamish took it, mumbling something under his breath as he wiped the small ounce of blood on his lip.

Bree shook her head as the crowd retired back into the village. It was sundown, and after a hard days work many of the men went into the village for a pint of ale.

"Pig brained, the lot of em. Will drink themselves silly tonight, you ken bet" she stated, heading back towards the castle.

"Bree, may we go into the village tonight?" I boldly asked. She sighed, knowing sooner or later I would ask.

"You know it wouldna do any good. They know you're an outsider, and without the Bruce there to quiet em, ye'll be called ghastly names or worse, milady."

I shrugged. "It's not much better inside, I can tell you that. Besides, I have you to protect me" I smiled sweetly, begging with my eyes she would allow me some leisure.

Sighing loudly, she bit her lower lip. "If ye get into a squabble, I'll not be the one to tell the King you got yerself killed."

"Then let's not mention it to anyone. I'll wear a cloak, see?" I said, putting a hood over my head. Branwain looked around, making sure there were no guards in sight.

"Half an hour. Watch the locals, talk to no one, and I'll buy the drinks".

"Yes ma'am" I exclaimed, grinning widely.


	3. Learning to Need you

This is a pretty long chapter, hopefully you will like. Feedback appreciated. Disclaimer: I own Aris, Patrick, Bree, and a few others, but def. not Wallace, Robert the Bruce, or the movie. I've mixed in some historical facts with fiction, and the language is definately a bit modern day, just to warn you. Enjoy!

Someday chap 3

The night was crisp as the sun set, and much jolly could be heard from the pub in the village square. Men were gambling, dancing, drinking, and singing; as the wenches and village girls giggled with amusement. Amidst the rowdiness Bree went to fetch us some ale as I sat down at the nearest table outside. The wind was not as harsh as the nights before, though it was well into winter.

Before she could scold, I took off my hood to enjoy the scenes around me. At the next table I watched as an elderly fellow regaled his comrades with tales of old. The young Scots around him, none over seventeen; stared with wide eyes as he recounted the glorious days of battle.

I doubt it is ever that romantic, I thought to myself, just as a young chap sat his bum down at the seat next to me.

"Buy ye a drink, lass?" he grinned, gulping down his pint.

I shook my head, smiling, and turned around. He tapped me on the shoulder, asking once more in Gaelic, or so I assumed. Again I smiled, not wanting to make a big deal of it, and shook my head, pointing to Bree as she came with our drinks.

Bree shot me a look as the man got up and let her sit beside me. "This is a bad idea, milady" she whispered.

I gratefully began chugging the cup. "Honestly, Branwain. If I'm stuck here I might as well enjoy it while I'm allowed to."

A few of the older men brought their instruments out and began playing, much to the delight of the whooping soldiers. Every female present ran up to the men and began dancing. I laughed and clapped along as Bree was chosen by a handsome young bloke dressed in his family kilt and tunic. He forced her out of the chair and whipped her into the middle of the dancing, as I giggled with delight.

"May I have the pleasure?" a familiar voice sounded in my ear.

"You're vainer than I thought to assume I would dance with my betrayer and captor" I huffed, avoiding his gaze. Even though I wasn't looking I knew he was showing off that devilish grin.

"Ye shouldn't be here, you ken" he stated, turning my chin to face him. His hand was rough but warm. "I might just have to tell the Bruce ye should be confined to ye quarters…"

"You would not dare".

"Aye, I would dare…that is…unless ye care for a dance?" He winked at me, and extended his hand. I looked over at Bree, who was laughing as her partner swung her around merrily.

"Alright, fine." I caved, taking his hand. His eyes sparkled with victory. He began swaying me to and fro, not at all dancing like he did that night of the beseeching. This time there was a looseness the English knew not how to exhibit. I tried keeping up, his strong arms not letting me fall. I even managed a slight chuckle every couple of steps at the silliness of it all.

After a few songs my legs grew weak, and as if he knew, Patrick walked me off the dance floor and bade me sit at one of the tables. I obliged, carefully noting a few nasty glances from the wenches. Perhaps Patrick was a popular fellow among the women here. He was charming enough, what with his head dipped in vanity.

"Are ye enjoying yerself, then?" he asked as I realized my mouth had not stopped smiling.

Forgetting my pride, I nodded. "I suppose I am. I'm afraid it's not this lively in England." Thinking back to the last couple of parties I had been, they seemed quite a droll. Granted my gowns had been quite more refined, I did think this looser style red dress a bit healthier to my ribcage at the moment.

"Aye, I ken. I've traveled there a few times meself."

To this I raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you acquired an English accent?"

He cackled and pushed the loose brown curls out of his eyes. "_Beus na tuath, far am bithear se nithear_" he said softly, taking another gulp of his ale.

"Praytell what does that mean?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He stared at me, his blue eyes accenting his dark features. "The manners of the folk where thou art, thou must adopt."

I nodded in understanding. "You are a mysterious man, Patrick. I don't even know your last name."

Cracking his fist, he motioned for the waitress to bring him whiskey. "You never asked. Campbell. Anything else you wish to know of me? I'm an honest man, Lady Aris. I would never tell a lie to you" he said slyly, knowing what I would retort.

"I suppose being the Cousin of the Earl of Henshire does not count as a lie?".

Seeing that he was cornered, he bowed his head. "Aye, ye got me there, lass. But that was to protect my kinsmen. And its not an absolute false. I am cousin to the Earl of Henshire's wife's sister's husband, Brian Belloch. But if it makes ye feel any better, I'll swear now that I will always be honest with ye, Lady Aris of Perth. Well, perhaps not Perth anymore..." he shyed off.

I shook my head. "That indeed I am not." A hint of sadness overcame me as I dwelled on the idea that I was homeless. And soon I would be sent back to my father, to be once more wed off to the nearest suitor. A new thought struck me.

"I take it the reason I have not yet been entitled to return to England is because Robert the Bruce is preparing terms for my ransom. That is it, isn't it Patrick? My ransom could certainly pay for part of the campaign against King Edward II. I'm the daughter of a wealthy Duke with close ties to His Majesty" I stated without malice.

The veil of charm he had been using suddenly lifted as his face fell. "Aye" was all he could muster to say.

I looked around at the common folk around me. All had hope that tomorrow would bring about the rise of their king and the fall of King Edward II. Their sons and fathers were fighting for freedom against tyranny, bleeding for a taste of what my own kin feel. Back in England, my father could not add to their oppression. But he could add to mine. I couldn't go back. Nor could I stay, because here I was an outsider. This was not my fight.

Once I returned I knew there would be no escape. I needed to plan accordingly, when half the Scottish army wasn't around.

Lost in my thoughts, I did not realize Patrick had said something to me. "Sorry?"

He took a shot of whiskey and sighed. "I said ye dinna need to worry. I promise I'll get you back to your family."

I didn't say anything, I could only feel the rise of my stomach at his words. Suddenly I noticed Bree walking this way, her hair frizzy from dancing. "It's getting late, milady" she said, composing herself as one of her eyes drifted off to look at the man who had been flirting with her.

Patrick nodded to both of us and bid us goodnight. As he walked away, she giggled slightly. "You certainly can choose em, miss."

I turned to face her as we started the journey back. "Excuse me?" I mumbled, weariness taking over my body as I pulled the hood of the cloak over my head.

"Lord Campbell. He was just named chieftain of clan Campbell not two months before you were taken. His older brother was killed by a band of English soldiers, who ambushed them in the middle of the night...the cowards... I'd best watch wha' I ate from now on, milady. Almost all the single ladies have an eye on him, and half the married ones too. Ye should have heard what the girls were saying earlier about ye..." she stared off, shaking her head in shock.

"I thought they hated me because I was English?" I asked with a grin, curious to see how similar Scots ladies were to the English courtiers in London; both loved gossip and drama.

"That doesna help either, but if the chieftain was to choose an outsider like ye for his wife, there goes their chances of a decent marriage."

I laughed whole heartedly. "They're that worried, are they? Well, please be so kind as to inform them I have no interest in _Lord_ Campbell, or any other Scot on this god forsaken land. You above all know I refuse to be controlled by any man at all, and a stubborn, hairy, bloody _Scot_ no less?" Seeing who I was talking to, I apoligized. "You know what I mean, Branwain."

Bree smiled as we finally made our way up the steps and into our chambers on the east corridor. "Dinna worry. Just rest; I'm almost positive this will all be over for ye soon enough".

But it wasn't. A few more weeks went by, with no orders from the Bruce to send me anywhere. He had been gone for ten days, north into the mountains to what purpose I know not. I did what I could inside the castle, proving to be far more able in servants work than noblewomens. I didn't mind; I tried to avoid the ladies of the castle as much as possible. I spent my days helping the head stablehand and the gardners. Planting and learning about herbs and their healing powers was much more satisfying than spinning a loom with ladies who wanted me dead. Some days Branwain even took me into the village as she ran errands for the castle staff; buying local fruits and meat, examining the woven cloths, visiting the village healer for fresh supplies. The army had been moved a mile north of the castle, because as it were they were exhausting the locals with their demands of food and clothing.

After a few days rain subsided, I thought it the perfect opportunity to go for a ride into the hills. The weather had become slightly warmer, though a thick cloak was still needed in order for me not to freeze to death. Branwain, however, was feeling quite against it.

"Fine, I'll go by myself" I retorted after she shook her head. Rolling her eyes, she caught me by the arm.

"Beggin yer ladyship's pardon, but I do believe your not allowed to go off by your wee self" she stated, trying to hide a small smirk.

"Och, she dinna need to be alone. I'm up for the challenge" Patrick stated, walking out of the shadows. He had that uncanny ability to walk up at the worst possible time. I did not say anything to him. I simply looked back at Bree, whose smile was now unmistakable.

"Well, then I guess you'll get yer wish there" she said.

I shot her a nasty look. "Bree!"

She shrugged and began to walk away. Turning around, I could see that Patrick was not wise enough to hide his own grin.

"Perhaps I'm not feeling up for it anymore" I stated cheekily.

He grabbed my hand forcefully and began making his way down the steps to the courtyard outside. "Nay, I'm sure you'll love a good view of the countryside. I'll show ye the best trails."

Thinking there could be worse things to do, I stopped squirming and let him lead me into the stables, where two horses were being tacted for us. Swinging myself up into the saddle, I let my hand brush the soft caramel colored hairs of my mare, soothing her as I took the reins.

Patrick's gelding was a good hand taller than mine, and was all black as night itself. "Ready?"

I looked down and noticed he carried nothing but a small dirk. He was not anticipating any trouble along the way. I nodded, and off we went. For a while we simply cantered along the trails, past the village and the fields until after about half an hour later he began to slow as the fields turned upward with an army of trees before us. It was then that he started chatting.

"Ye dinna need to sulk, milady. Look around ye! Not a finer sight in all of Scotland!" he waved his arms up as his gelding walked on, my eyes surveying the land around me. Granted he was right, it was quite beautiful. There was a slight breeze in the air, cooling my skin. We had reached a clearing in the mountain, where miles upon miles of land could be seen, tracing its way off into the horizon with no end in sight. It looked peaceful, free even. Like no one could hold you back. It felt good.

He watched me as I looked foward, lost in my own thoughts. A new idea had struck me, though it scared me to even think it. He and I were alone. I had no belongings; money would be a problem, but I had my wits as a resource. I would have a good half day start on Bruce's men by the time they had found out I was gone. But Patrick...how could I get away?

This was my chance, I knew it. Once I was taken to my father, there would be no escape. Here, there was all sorts of possibilites. I could find my way to the nearest sea port, and perhaps head to Ireland. I could go southeast to Paris, where I knew my cousin would give me shelter for a time. Or I could stay. That idea made my heart stop. Could I? The land itself was beautiful...and my time in the village had left me with a sense of hope of what could be. But I was an outsider. I stood up straighter on my mare. No, I had no reason to stay. And if I was to leave, it had to be now.

"I dinna think there could be a deeper furrow in your brow, lass" he stated, waking me from my thoughts.

I finally turned to face him. "Hmm? Oh...yes...well...yes. Its quite pretty."

He grinned, and began walking his horse uphill once more. Earlier on I had trailed him, but now the makeshift road was big enough for both our horses to ride side by side. The band holding his locks together had fallen off, leaving his brown curls bouncing at his shoulder. He wore a simple tunic and breeches, nothing stating that he was Lord of anything.

"It must have been rough to lose your brother, Lord Campbell" I said, shifting the conversation to a more serious tone. He stopped grinning and bit his lower lip, caught completely unexpected.

"Aye. I never wanted to be laird of my home land...it was my brother Angus that deserved it. But now here I am, a noble, sending off my men to fight against your king...hoping I dinna have to bring their bodies home to their wives and children."

He was being open and honest with me, and for once I had nothing to retort. He did not look at me. He kept his eyes forward and focused, almost as if I wasn't there anymore, and he was simply talking to the rocks and trees around that listened. "Tis strange. When I was a boy I always envisioned myself riding alongside Wallace, having adventures with my friends as we set off to free Scotland from tyranny. Now...being in charge of so many...I feel so responsible. I suppose I understand now more than ever why my father opposed siding with Wallace...he did not want the deaths of his men on his heart."

Hearing that name I was once more reminded of that day so long ago. His eyes...that passion so raw. "Your father opposed William Wallace? I can understand his concerns, but is not freedom worth any price?"

His whole body tensed. "This coming from an _English_ lass...I'm beginning to think you actually sympathize with our cause, milady". He was avoiding my question, that was plain. In fact, his whole face had flushed when his father was mentioned.

I shrugged. "One can wonder" was all I replied. His eyes flickered, contemplative. Soon we came upon a rocky patch, and Patrick jumped down from his horse.

"There's a stream nearby. See those yon trees there? Fetch some wood while I catch us some lunch. I'm famished and it'll be a long ways back if we wish to reach the castle by nightfall."

He began to make his way out of sight. My whole body shook. This was it. It was my one chance to get away. Images of my family flashed through my head; of father's cruelty and greed, of my sister's coldness to me the day after her wedding. I could feel a tear starting to fall down my left cheek. _I'm sorry Patrick_, I whispered to the wind, my companion long out of range.

As swiftly as I could, before I could dwell on any more thoughts, I saddled my horse and swung myself onto its back. Looking left and right, the tall Highlander was no where to be found. I kicked my heel into the mare's side. I was a prisoner no longer.

I rode straight into the night, as fast as I could kick and as long as my bum could stand. It was dawn before I finally made it over the mountains and through the passing. West was my only chance to a sea port. I knew it would take nearly a week to reach the sea, but hopefully Bruce's men would assume I would venture south, back to England and my family.

The night was colder than I expected, and the wind made its way through my cloak and onto my skin, stabbing me with its fierceness. It was March, and still very cold at night in Scotland. I tried not to think about the cold and the soreness of my rear as I rode. I was intent on getting as far from Patrick as possible. Hopefully he would just let me go.

The morning dew left me feeling tired and wet, my whole body shaking from the chilly air plastering itself on my skin. My lips were chapped, cracked to the point where the bottom part had started to bleed slightly. It was a miserable feeling, but at the same time, I couldn't help but smile. I had made it.

Whether it was luck or not, just as my horse was about to break down, I found a small cave to rest for awhile. I pulled the few oats I had brought and gave it to my mare, who greddily chomped it down. Not caring that I was filthy and fully clothed, I crawled inside and let my eyes close.

I could not tell how much time had passed when I was awakened by the skitterish whinnying of my mare. I shot up, my head pounding. Sniffing, I rubbed my eyes as I heard the whiny again. Peeking out, my body froze as I saw two ruff looking men make their way cautiously toward the horse.

"Quiet, there, lassie" one mumbled to the horse, who in return stomped her legs wildly as they tried grabbing the reins I had tied to a tree nearby. The other man laughed, but looked my direction. I quickly ducked my head back into the rock.

"Oi! Morris, I dinna think we be alone here!" he stated, and soon I heard leaves rustling as footsteps approached.

Sighing, I closed my eyes, willing myself to breathe. "Best come out of there, before we force you out." Knowing there was nothing I could do, i followed orders. The other fellow grabbed my arm and sharply pinned me to the rock.

"She's a right bonnie lass, Malcom. Perhaps we'll be getting more than a fine horse today..." he said, sniffing my hair. I used what strength I could with my other arm to smack him right across the cheek, his grip on my slightening. He reeked of ale and grime, his hair unkept and his clothes torn. They were raiders.

"Eh, leave her be. I've a daughter her age; she isna me type- too thin" the man named Malcom stated, looking me up and down. "And fiesty" he added as I tried to smack Morris again.

This time he gripped me so hard I couldn't help but whimper a bit. "Mmmphmm, skinny she may be, but ripe none the less. You go on ahead with the horse. I'll entertain our host a bit longer".

The older man shrugged. "Suit yerself. I'll not get mixed up with it. Don't be too rough with her, she doesna look like she could handle ye well."

Hearing these words made my muscles jolt alive with anger and fear. Morris pushed me hard up against the rock as Malcom rode away with my horse. I kicked him, hard. He yelped, but soon recovered, hitting me square on the cheek.

"No!" I screamed, biting into his arm. This made him loose his grip once more, and I kicked again, this time enough to make him falter. I broke out in a run, but the man was fast. He tackled me to the ground, forcing my legs apart.

I slapped him again, and turned around to run. Something hard hit the back of my head, and once more I was down on the ground, dazed.

"There now. Yer a wee sprite, arent ye?" he said, turning me over on my back. I tried keeping my eyes open, I was only dazed for a moment, but it was enough to give him back the power. I shook my head in pleading, having no strength left in my body to fight.

He kissed my neck as he began taking off his breeches. I closed my eyes.

"Ahhh!" he screamed, taking his hands off my body. He turned to face another person, who had pushed him off of me. My vision returned.

"Patrick?" I whispered, as the Scotsmen faced each other. Patrick took out his dirk and aimed it at Morris.

Morris lunged forward. Patrick pivoted left, wrapping his right arm around Morris' neck. He took his other hand and placed it on Morris' head, and twisted. I heard the loud crack and screamed as my attacker's body hit the ground. I sat up, hugging my legs close to my face.

Patrick stood there, breathing hard down at the dead man. Sense returned to him, and those eyes focused now on me. I bit my lower lip, unsure of what to do. He ebtn down to me, his hand touching my face, examining the spot where the raider had hit me.

"Are you alright?" he asked earnestly, his face just inches from mine.

I stared back at him for a moment. Then I placed my arms on his back, crying into his shoulder. His large arms wrapped around my back, his left hand stroking my head. He mumbled something softly in Gaelic, and forced me to look at him again.

"Do ye ken what you've done?" he asked, his tone a mixture of anger and fear. Both his hands were on my cheeks, forcing me to stare back at him.

"I-I'm sorry Patrick. You don't know-"

Knowing now that I wasn't hurt, he took his hands off me and stood up. I did as well. He placed his arms on his side, pacing back and forth with a look of sheer disappointment.

"I've been assigned to keep you safe. I've been told to babysit ye while my men go off to the next raid on the English without me! Christ, do ye realize I've wasted a whole day worrying to God no harm had come to ye, all the while wanting to strangle ye myself for betraying my trust and leaving? Do you realize?! No! Because your a selfish, ignorant wee wench!" he yelled, his arms flailing up.

My own mixture of rage and fear was rising. Not two minutes before I was fearing for my life, and now I was being accused of being selfish for wanting to escape. "You think I had the choice to be your prisoner?! I betrayed your trust? You took away my home, my family..."

He laughed and yelled something profane in Gaelic. "Your family? You mean that bastard father who kills many of my kin for sport, rapes my women for pleasure, and has a heart of stone? That family?" I now noticed he himself had a flicker of a tear at the corner of his eye, though i knew he would never let it fall. He was a Scot.

"So you blame me for my father's mistakes? You think I want to go back? You think I want to be ransomed back to a man I deplore as much as you, only to be sent off to the first husband that comes knocking? I left so that I may be free of his tyranny...free of all men's autocracy! I left because there is no one I can trust, no one who will understand! I'm sorry if I'm responsible for you being away from your men. But perhaps you should blame your damn king, and not me. I am not responsible for this war, and I refused to be blamed for it!"

The furrow in his brow lessoned, as some sort of realization dawned on him. "I'm not blaming ye for the damn war-"

"Just say it! I…am…pathetic. I let him do it! I let him rape her! I let him torture all those people! I did nothing, and therefore I am worse than him!" The tears were readily flowing at a rapid pace. I hugged myself and stepped back a few paces from him.

Confusion marked his face, the blue eyes staring into the depth of my soul. I wanted him to stop doing that. It was like he could see me…not as everyone else saw me.

"What are ye talking about, I never…och! You blame yerself? Christ, lass, you never fail to astound me. You honestly think you are to blame for your father's sins?"

"I can't go back. I won't. I won't." I said, shaking my head like an upset child.

He embraced me once more, this time squeezing me harder. "Your safe" he whispered. My face fell on his chest. I could distinctly smell the musk of man and sap.

I looked up at him and found he was watching me. I opened my mouth, but no words could come out. I had hurt him by leaving, and that I could see plainly. But why did he care so much?

"Don't look at me like that, Aris." It was the first time he had said my name.

I closed my eyes and put my lips on his. It tasted of honeysuckles, moist and rich. He pulled away quickly.

"Christ, I dinna ken whether to tan yer hide for leaving or to take yer body, for I have wanted you for a long time, lass" he stated bluntly. This time he kissed me, with much more force. He let his lips wander along my neck and face, each time I found myself gasping for air.

He let go again. "I think I'll go with the latter, if it pleases ye."

I let myself smile, and kissed him hard on the lips. My fingers began lifting his shirt, and to my surprise I found myself staring at a chest hard and lean, with one large scar ranging from his left breastbone down to his lower ribcage. I let my fingers trace their way along it, my hands cool against his warm skin. Our foreheads touched, his rich curly hair stroking my cheeks. A sensation I had never felt came over me, and it scared me, scared me worse than the near-rape encounter.

Reason took over me, and I pulled away. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…I can't. Not here, not now."

His breath was rapid and loud, and his lips still close to mine. But he was more restrained than I thought. His grip on me lessoned. "It's alright, lass. Ye've been through a lot today, and it hasna helped with my ramblings." He tried to force a smile. "Can I trust ye to come back with me? I'll talk to the Bruce…I won't let him send ye back…not to that monster."

I looked up at him. "I'll give you my trust, Patrick Campbell." I tried to smile. "I suppose you don't hate me then, do you?"


	4. A Plan devised

I know its been awhile since I've written anything, but summer's here, and so I have more time to focus on it. I am indeed infatuated with this story, so hope you enjoy! I love reviews, even if they are bad or just helpful. Disclaimer: I dont own braveheart, but Aris, Bree, and Patrick are mine. Muahahah.

Chapter 4

A few days later I was summoned to the Bruce's study, since the king had returned the night before. I had not seen him arrive, but could hear the various servants scuttling all night trying to prepare rooms for the king and his closest men at arms. Bree brushed me into the rather large room, shutting the door behind her. Looking around, I was enclosed by stacks upon stacks of books, maps, charts, and scrolls. A large desk lay before me, and behind a mound of papers sat the Bruce, busily writing away on a piece of parchment, as if he had not heard me knock. I cleared my throat.

Finishing his sentence, he looked up. "I can see your time hear has done ye well, lass. You're face has a bit of color back. And the food has done ye well, I gather."

Hoping that was supposed to be a compliment to my body and not an insult in disguise, I simply nodded. _What is this about?_ My eyes asked.

As if hearing me, he folded his hands and sighed. "I received a letter from your father." He paused, looking for some sort of nonverbal response from me. I gave none. He continued, "I willna go into all the names he chooses to call me, but it did state that he desired to have you back. It seems he will be very generous to our campaign if we brought you back…undefiled."

At this I snorted and he raised his left eyebrow. "Please rest assured that in one week, I will reunite ye with yer father, in Edinburgh. You have indeed been a most obedient…guest". I suppose Patrick never told him about my attempt at escaping.

Taking a deep breath, I began. "Your Highness. I thank you for your hospitality, and please understand that I have sympathy for your cause. But I will not return to that man. The only reason he would ever pay my ransom is certainly not for my well being. He only wants me back because I am his property. It is his pride that wills me back; and believe me, once I am in his hands, he will exhort every available resource to hunt you down. He does not believe in the rules of war. Whoever you send as my escort will be executed, even if you come under a banner of truce. I will not go back." I had stood straight, with my eyes staring intensely into his. He did the same.

He blinked, taking a moment to look down once more on the parchment in front of him. I realized my heart was beating fast, and my breathing loud.

"I am a man of my word, Lady Aris. I gave him my word I would see you safe back to him."

"Perhaps I am not making myself clear. No matter how much money he gives you, he will use twice as much to see your head on a plate. He is in close confidence with the king. And let's face it, I am a liability. I know your troop numbers, the land, and your camp locations. Is it wise to send me off to the enemy so that I can tell them all I know?"

To this he smirked. "My lady, you are making a very good argument to have you killed. Luckily I know, you have said it yourself, you are sympathetic to our cause. Your servant Branwain has confirmed your loyalty and your own hatred toward Duke Gareth."

"Then why would you have me returned to him? Is your heart so cold it only cares for money?" I asked, my voice rising by the second. The Bruce stayed calm and collected, still giving me a bemused smirk.

"My heart cares only in protecting my people."

"And I am an outsider."

He sighed, and took a sip from his nearby wine glass. "Branwain!" he called loudly. The door opened, and in walked my servant, a slight smile plastered on her face.

My blood was boiling, and my respect for this man was steadily declining.

The king took another sip, and rose from his chair. "I must say, at first I did not believe you Branwain, but now that I've had a good chat, I'm inclined to agree." Narrowing my eyes, I looked from one to the other. The king turned his gaze back to me, and lightly put his left hand on my shoulder. "I have already heard of your plight. And while I agree the best thing to do would be to let you wander off into the world alone to delight in yer own happiness, I possess a different proposal." His face was dead serious, and I found myself biting the lower half of my chapped lip.

His eyes softened, but he kept his hand on my shoulder, a look of desperation on his face.

"You are an outsider, as you say. But I have such need of ye. If ye would consent, I have a proposal that will ultimately grant you freedom and money to go your own way. But it is dangerous, and it requires stealth and a strong ability to lie. It also requires me to trust you. And trust is something I find difficult to do."

I was beginning to see, and I looked over at Bree, who was no longer smiling. As if knowing my thoughts, she nodded.

"You wish me to spy, don't you?" I asked, the words coming out as a whisper.

The Bruce blinked, and slowly nodded. "I have spent many nights pondering our situation. As you stated earlier, you know a great many things about my army. And I know of your father's pride and vengeance, I have seen its effects on my countrymen. If I do not send ye back, I will have shamed my word and lost the ransom money that, I admit, we could use. Believe me, I did not realize in taking you here how troublesome you would become." His accent, sometimes thick and harsh in the Scots tongue, was beginning to lesson as he spoke.

At his frankness I risked a grin, and could see him relax. "The easiest solution would be to let you go. But I am a man that likes to find the best in any situation. And Branwain told me you once promised her that you would not let the sufferings of our people endure anymore at the hands of your father." At this my mind replayed the day Bree had come to me crying, her sister raped by Duke Gareth by right of _prima nocte_.

"I know that there is much danger in this. You obviously would rather eat pig shit than return to your father. But I promise, you will be well compensated, and I will do my best to have you evacuated as soon as you think necessary. It is harder than you realize for me to ask this of you. I have seen the face of a man betrayed, and it is not something I ever want to experience again. If you do not agree, I will release you to Argsdune, the closest seaport. But I canna help you anymore."

The three of us stood silent, my mind deep in thought. Images flashed before my eyes; terrible things I had witnessed my father do. But soon a face appeared; one almost out of a dream of long ago. His eyes stared right into my soul, and words came back, words that seemed to echo outside of time: "_You have a long journey ahead…never run away from your problems. Embrace it, and fight for your liberty. Hiding only brings shame_". William.

I lifted my head, and reality came back. Bree and the king were both staring at me, awaiting an answer.

A shiver ran down my spine, as I could hear the rain begin to patter outside. "I will do as you ask. Not out of vengeance against my father, but because I know what it is like to fight for freedom. And it would be nice to see someone get it for a change" I stated, with a hint of a smile. The king did not smile back, but simply nodded.

"I was hoping you would say that. Branwain?"

Bree nodded, and went out of the room, returning shortly with the king's sword. Nervousness hit me like a rock.

Robert the Bruce took the sword, turning it slightly as he gazed intensely at its hilt. Instinct told me to kneel, and with one leg on the ground, I felt the sword on my back.

"Do you swear by your word as your bond, fealty to Roibert a Briuis, great grandson of David I, rule of Scotland, and take him as your king? Do you swear to protect and honor the lord and his country against those who would wish to seize and destroy it?"

Recognizing an oath of fealty, I clasped my hands together and recited, "I, Lady Aris Cassandra Elaine Tailur, promise on my faith that I will in the future be loyal to the lord, never cause him harm and will observe my homage to him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit". He lifted his sword, and, helping me stand, clasped his hand to mine, the oath complete through the fluidity of two bodies molding together.

"No one will know of your purpose, save myself and Branwain. I have yet to find the English spies within my army, and therefore no one must know of your allegiance to me. Branwain will accompany you to Edinburgh and will continue to be used as your servant, obtaining information you cannot and bringing your letters to my messengers, since it might be too dangerous to have you do so."

"No", I stated, with all sincerity.

They both raised their brows in question.

"Bree cannot go with me. My father would have her killed immediately. He would not take any chances".

"Milady, I will not have you go without-"

"Silence, Branwain" the king stated, holding out his hand. He nodded at me. "I agree, your father is renown for his ability to smell a rat. You will have to stay."

"That was not part of the plan….your Majesty" she added, almost forgetting who she was talking to.

I smiled at my longtime friend and grasped both her small but rough hands. "It's all right, Bree. I can do this…at least, I suppose I'll try. There is no alternative that involves less danger, so I might as well make something good come out of it, eh?"

She did not smile back, and instead gave the closest thing she could to a pout, which involved a slight narrowing of the brow and lifting on the eyes. I stood a good hand taller than her; I was taller than most girls, standing at five foot eight. Knowing there was naught much else to say, she mumbled something about cleaning my sheets and set off, leaving me alone with the Scottish king once more. My king, I suppose.

"You have a gift, Lady Tailur."

I sighed, facing away from him and running my fingers absentmindedly through the shelf of books. Catullus, Horace, Livy. A fan of the classics, the Bruce was. "For being stubborn?" I joked.

"Mmmphm. That too. But nay, I was implyin' your gift as a leader. 'Tis a rare ability to get others to follow ye into danger."

Ignoring his comment, I examined the top shelf, my hand reaching for one book in particular, and I handed it to my king. Seeing what it was, he allowed his upper lip to curve slightly as his eyes shifted back to me. "The _Historia Regum Britanniae_? A fan of Geoffrey of Monmouth, I see."

"I find him both dull and stiff in his accounts, even though the subjects themselves are fascinating".

"Aye. Then perhaps ye would do best with a more romantic tale of Arthur? Have ye read Chretien de Troyes, then? I take it a bonny lass like yerself learned French as well as Latin?"

I smiled, reminiscing the many days I had escaped my etiquette tutors to lay outside on the grass in Perth, a book buried in my face. "Perhaps you think it's silly…liking Guinevere and Tristan and Isolde and such."

"Rather the contrary, it explains a lot, lass."

A brow lifted itself in question, as he gently put the book back into my hand. "Heroic tales of Briton battling the invading Roman Empire and later Saxons…I suppose that's part of why a noblewoman such as yerself would have sympathy for our cause."

Looking into his eyes, I could see him searching me, willing to find an answer. He still didn't completely trust me. But that was to be expected.

He sighed, and returned to his chair. "Take the book, if ye like. You shall leave in a few days." It was a sign to exit, and I took it, making sure to curtsy before I left.

The next few days I kept myself busy in the kitchen, and sometimes the garden, planting herbs for spring. I would not allow myself to think of Patrick, and I ignored him whenever possible. It was a chilly March, and I had carefully placed a pair of breeches under my dress to keep my legs warm as I worked outside. Apparently the whole army was moving out the same time I was leaving, and no one was without job and purpose.

After a long day of listening to the rotund housemaid bark orders to her inferiors, I was delighted to find Bree placing a hot coal pan under my sheets. She gave me a sly smile. "I see Mrs. Dumfries set you to work today", she commented.

I jumped on the bed, my body sinking into the many layers of sheets in pure ecstasy. "That she did. Guest or spy, I suppose it does not matter I am a noblewoman here".

"Not that a lass such as ye would mind hard labor…" Bree mumbled.

I let her undress the many strings that bound my corset together. In nothing but my shift, I burrowed myself under the covers, the coal pan already working its magic against the harsh night wind. March in Scotland was cruel against the skin. Many fell prey to its sicknesses, since there was so much outside work to be done to prepare for spring. I myself sniffled slightly. I looked to my right, and noticed a small bag carrying my things was packed.

Reading my thoughts, Bree past the boundaries of servant relations, and sat on my bed beside me. "I canna believe ye go back at sunrise".

Not wishing to see her face, I closed my eyes and placed my head on the soft pillow. "Honestly, I'm doing my absolute best not to worry. Neither should you", I lectured.

Though I could not see, I could sense she was staring at me. "_An uair as laine 'n cupan, 's ann as dorr' a ghiulan"._ Though I did not understand her words, they allowed me to drift into peaceful slumber, and for a moment, I forgot that tomorrow would come hell.

As dawn approached, Bree awoke me to get changed and ready to leave. She did not know who would accompany me, only that I was to leave well before the army moved out. As I made my way out onto the courtyard, the first rays of light approached. Branwain handed me my small case of clothing. "This is where I leave ye".

I embraced her as a sister, and she said something in Gaelic I was almost positive meant, 'Godspeed, my brave one'. I choked back words, for with any sound I knew would come tears, so instead I smiled, waving as I went out to meet the four horses saddled and ready to depart.

Two of the men were already mounted. One was a young man I remembered seeing down at the village. He had to be no older than myself, but bore a mature face of one who had seen much of the world and its dangers. His skin was weathered and rough, but only his eyes gave reason for him to be near twenty. His name was Colum Murdock. The other man mounted was older, perhaps in his thirties. His ragged brown locks covered much of his face, giving him that ferocious warrior look that scared many English children at bedtime. The Irishman, Stephen.

"Lovely day to return to that sod faced father of yours, eh sassenach? I must admit I'm sad to see ye go, ye wee sprite. Ye were a pretty thing to look at. Still, I have the whole ride there to enjoy myself with ye". Remembering that no one save Bree and the Bruce knew of my true motives, I rolled my eyes and went toward the third horse. As I mounted, the fourth rider emerged from the stable. Naturally, I knew who it was.

He did not talk to me, nor look me in the eye. He simply mounted his horse, and kicked it gently. Colum followed, then myself, and last Stephen. As we rode away, I took one last look at the castle, and thought of all the inhabitants within. Marjorie had given me a small woven bracelet, stating she was happy not all Englishfolk were filthy brutes. 'Well, perhaps it's just the men' she said, and we both laughed.

One of the gardeners, an elderly man by the name of Tallis, gave me several herbs to use as medicines against infections and fevers. He had appreciated my slight understanding of herbs, and I suppose I made quite an impression on him.

For a few hours the four of us rode south in silence, sometimes trotting, and sometimes at a fast canter. The first time we stopped was towards midday. My bum was already sore. Taking out an apple from my sack, I sat down on the nearest log and began munching away as both Colum and Stephen went into the woods to relieve themselves. It was then that Patrick finally spoke.

"So ye've decided to go home then?" he said nonchalantly, and I realized he was angry.

I said nothing, and simply nodded. He nodded back. "Aye, well…The Bruce came to me last night and told me I was to take ye home and bring back the ransom purse. He said ye had specific reasons for returning. Well?"

I looked at his disgruntled face, wondering how hard it would be to lie to him. Seeing I did not reply, he grabbed my arm, forcefully, and his fingers squeezed deep into the skin, making me wince. "Did I not promise I would protect ye from him? And did ye not say ye would trust me?"

He let go, and I instinctly rubbed my arm. "The reasons I go back are my own".

"Are they now?" he said in mockery, his hands firmly placed on his hips. "And I suppose the Bruce did not entice ye with any promises. I know he wouldna threaten ye."

"You are truly a bloody stubborn…Scot, you know that? Always jumping to the worst conclusions…never wanting to see reason…"

"Let me guess. The main reason ye would return to such a man is safety, right? Is it cowardice that makes ye crawl back to him?" His voice was steadily rising, and I could feel my own anger bursting.

"You dare call me a coward?"

"No, I call ye a liar. You said ye would rather die than go back, so what am I s'posed to think when ye won't give me an answer?".

"What is there left for me here, Patrick?" I yelled, my arms held out in exasperation.

To this his eyes widened. "Christ child, ye are daft. Did I not profess my own desire for ye not one week ago, when I saved ye from vagabonds on the road because ye disobeyed my orders?"

So that was it. I had hit a nerve in the Highland warrior. He was angry because I had most indeed reciprocated feelings of infatuation, and I had not bothered to tell him I was leaving. And I knew why. Because I knew it would be too painful to say goodbye. For all the Scottish brute he was, I had come to find the Highlander a calming friend in my chaotic life. But I had to let him go. I had a job to do, and girlish fantasies would not do, though at the moment I found myself aroused to his desire for me to stay.

"Your infatuation for me will end soon, and you can move on to the next girl as soon as I'm home in England. Perhaps Siobhan, she seems rather taken by you." I struggled to get out the words, picturing that cow's lips on his nearly made me want to do unspeakable things to her. He himself seemed taken aback by my words, and he narrowed his eyes, searching for me to betray my words. I held my ground.

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Colum and Stephen returning, two hares dangling on a rope. "Lunch!" Stephen called out to us.

Patrick did not take his eyes away from me. Seeing his anger only made me more sorrowful of my mission. But he could not know. I could easily tell he would not allow it, though it was not his battle. _Damn bloody Scot_, I mentally said. And in silence we ate. We were three days ride north of Edinburgh. My stomach started to lurch.

Gaelic proverb: _When the cup is fullest it is most difficult to carry_

_Sassenach: outsider. _

_Yes, if the characters or plot seems familiar, I have recently been reading the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon. It helps tremendously with writing accents, and I love love love the characters so much I cannot help it if they sound similar to my fav. outlander characters. But it is def. a different story, believe me._


	5. The road to England

Okay, so Im going to try and get in a couple more chapters before school starts. Enjoy!

Chapter 5

Patrick was insistent that we set up our own camp in the woods, outside nearby villages instead of staying at the local inns.

Before I could even ask why, he answered for me. "The duke knows we're sending ye back to him. That means other people know as well, so the likelihood of someone ambushing us is a bit higher than you may expect". To this I nodded, and we kept riding at a steady pace; sometimes side by side in silence, other times single file. The first night we camped proved to be quite awkward. Stephen was ordered to accompany me when I needed to relieve myself. I found it rather unnerving, for when he said he was looking away, I distinctly heard a few short coughs that sounded a lot like cackling. I was told to sleep closest to the fire, and pretended to fall asleep instantly, since it was clear the men would not talk to me that night.

It was strange; ever since our tiff on the road, Patrick pretended to act as if I was simply another errand to run. He cracked jokes with the other two, and blatantly ignored any small comments or questions I posed. Stephen raised his eyebrow once or twice, while the other boy simply didn't read into it, or pretended not to.

The next day proved to be similar to the last, and since there was not much conversation to be had, I focused my mind on the task at hand, going over precisely what the Bruce had been training me for for the past week. Once reunited with my father, every two days I was to meet with one of His Majesty's spies. One was set in the butcher shop in Edinburgh. Another was situated in the English court, and the Bruce would not give me a name. "He will reveal himself soon, and you will know", the king stated with a glint of a playfulness in his eyes.

I was to play the gossiping lady who delighted in being the center of attention. "After all, ye were captured by devilish Scotsmen, so naturally everyone of importance will have you and yer father over for dinner parties", the Bruce's words rang clearly in my head, and I beamed in remembrance. Yes, I knew court intrigue all too well.

"I do believe that's the first time I've seen tha' sweet smile for the past couple days, lass. Thinkin' of wha' me chest looks like without a shirt?" Stephen provoked, riding to my right. We had slowed to a light trot, and my bum was feeling the full effects of it. I couldn't help but grin once more.

He laughed. "Nay, perhaps it's a lower region ye were imagining. Tonight I'll give ye a preview. Me balls are aching already, and we've another day's ride ahead".

Realizing how soon that was, I gulped in my nerves. "Thank you, Stephen, but I'm sure my vision is not accurate enough to view such small packages".

Everyone, including the Irishman guffawed. Seeing Patrick glance behind to look at us with a grin made my heart leap. I certainly did not want to end our friendship, fragile as it was, on bad terms. That night Colum and Stephen included me in their banter as we sat by the fire eating our parritch, and together we gossiped about the women of Dumbarton.

"Mrs. Dumfries certainly is a commanding presence in the kitchen" I generally stated, and Colum and Stephen eyed each other.

"And apparently the bedroom, too…"Stephen whispered. "Hamish recounted to me daily his sores after he took her to his chambers". As the three of us laughed, I shook my head. The head castlemaid had been widowed for three years and was rumored to consort with Hamish, the Bruce's right hand man.

"Princess Marjorie is quite pretty, wouldn't you agree Colum?" I asked, knowing he had a small crush on the lady.

Sure enough, he cheeks almost immediately turned a bright red against the light of the fire, and he simply mumbled a "yes'm".

Patrick, through all the banter, sat at the edge of camp, looking away from us. "I think I'm in need of more water. I'll go to the stream to get it" I stated. The stream was actually a very small lake, and was located about a quarter of a mile away.

"I'll go with you" Patrick said, rising from his position against the tree.

We walked in silence, and then, as soon as we were out of earshot from the others, he spoke. His eyes were a grayish blue, like the mist overtop the river when the sun first appears. "Are ye sure this is what ye want? To return? I've been mulling it over all day. I can get ye safely to a seaport. Colum is of my clan, and Stephen willna stop us." Pausing to take a breath, he continued, but now his fingers lightly touched my arm. "I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday. But ye must understand it tears me inside to see that ruthless barbarian get ye back." His touch was warm and rough; the hands of a warrior.

Trying desperately to keep control of my emotions, I backed away. The merest smell or touch of him made me want to wrap my arms around him and sob. But I couldn't. I had to stay strong. Keeping the mood as formal as possible, my voice did not falter. "I accept your apology, milord".

For a moment he simply stared, his eyes searching with all their might for something to give me away. The moon shone brightly on him, and for the first time I noticed a small scar near his left ear.

Seeing me stare, he gave up his search and touched the ear with his right hand. "My brother, Angus…when I was seven he accidentally cut my ear when he was practicing with his dirk. The wee bugger wouldna let me play with him for two months…given the fact that my father tanned his hide." Lord Campbell smiled at the memory, no longer looking at me but at the ground.

Knowing he was trying his best to be civil, I nodded, and pulled out my left arm. "My sister struck me with a vase when I was ten. I had stolen her necklace, just for a few minutes to look at myself in the looking glass, mind you…and she lashed out. My mother simply sent both of us to our rooms, not wanting to deal with it. It was Bree that stitched it up." I don't know why I was telling him such useless anecdotes, but it seemed right.

"I was wondering where that line came from. Must ha' been a nasty thing to get the pieces out."

I laughed. "It was. But considering that's the only major wound I've ever suffered, I suppose I'm lucky. Well, apart from getting stabbed in the stables during a siege on my home". I had meant it as a joke, but he did not smile. Once more his hand fell on my arm, and this time his fingers delicately traced the small scar line by my elbow. He was close, so close I could feel his breath on my shoulder. Instinctively I let my forehead touch his chest. His heartbeat was so loud.

"Yer a brave lass" he whispered, and slowly I let my head rise to look up at him. He was a good foot taller than me, and he leaned down, closing his eyes. I should have resisted, but reason was easily flying away. The kiss was short and sweet. He tasted of spices from our broth.

Before I could let him kiss me again, I placed my right hand on his hard chest. "You must let me go, Patrick". I heard him sigh deeply, almost to the point of letting out a groan of displeasure. I let my fingers lightly caress his pectoral muscles, which were tense. "I wish you would trust me. It pains me to see you so angry". I was being plain and honest, but I could not reveal my reasons. We were still inches away from each other, and upon looking down I could see a certain body part rise.

He broke away from me in embarrassment. "Aye…well. I suppose we should be getting' that water, eh?"

By nightfall on the fourth night, we had reached our destination. In the morning I was to be exchanged for the ransom at a clearing two miles away. Patrick volunteered to keep watch, in case the English knew we were nearby.

A long time after Stephen and Colum drifted into noisy slumber, I approached my captor, my hands clinging to the wool cloak wrapped warmly around my shoulders. Placing a blanket around him, I sat to his right, leaning against a rock. He nodded his thanks, and sipped the tea from the mug Stephen had given him an hour before.

"I did not mean to call you a coward, Aris". He rarely used my name, and whenever he did my heart flipped. "The only reasonable conclusion I can come up with is that the Bruce has asked you to spy for us, and you have agreed". Now he was looking at me, hoping to see the truth in my reaction.

Hating that he had guessed correctly, I succumbed to honesty. "I owe my father's victims that much".

At this, he actually grinned, but it was laced with frustration. "You didna wish to say anything because you thought I would try and stop ye" he stated.

"Though I do not need your permission, I do value your opinion. And I didn't want to see you worry", I replied, my voice small.

He scratched the back of his neck with his right hand, sighing deeply. "Did you know my father, Marcus Campbell, betrayed Wallace?"

I recalled our conversation minutes before my escape in the woods, and how he had avoided my questions about his father. I shook my head.

"He did not think Wallace would succeed. And so he took the purse Longshanks dangled in front of his face, and let the other clans suffer by leaving Falkirk field. He wanted to save his men, but in doing so he let others die. Many agree that had not my father and a few other lords left, the battle would have ended differently. Wallace…he murdered my father while I was asleep. I was just a lad then, who loved hearing the heroic tales of William and his men. So ye see lass, I too carry on the burden of my father".

This news shocked me, and it clearly shown in my expression. Being a laird itself was enough to bare the burden of responsibility, but to have to carry on the family name of a lord that betrayed the restoration of the Bruce…yes. I could see how he could understand my situation.

"Then you know I must do it, Patrick. Not out of stubborn ambition or adventure; it is something I simply must do for myself, and for the wrongs of my family."

He was staring intently at me, his nostrils flaring. Finally, he nodded. "Aye. I canna stop ye".

With these magic words, I rushed into his arms, and this time I kissed fiercely, without reservation or tact. He reacted with just as much fever and intensity, his arms nearly crushing my body. It was as if he did not intend to ever let go. Our lips took their time, searching each other, finding new places to explore. I let out a noise of pleasure as his hands cupped my cheeks, and then my neck and shoulders, his grip strong.

"Aris.." he whispered, but my lips would not let him go further. The sound of my name on his tongue was like a bard's singing- soft but powerful. I knew he was hard, and it took all my will not to rip off his clothes.

His mouth once more found a way to form words. "Marry me".

This time my lips did not return to his. Out of shock I instantly backed away, my eyes firmly fixed on his, searching for the hint of a smile on his face. There was none. He was serious.

"Patrick-"

"I have never yearned for someone so much. I dream about ye, day and night. Christ, the way your lips feel against mine…it feels right. I canna explain it any more than that."

Forming coherent phrases was out of the question, so I simply continued to give him an unsatisfying look of surprise.

"I ken you feel the same for me".

To this I raised my brow, and a tingling sensation shot through my body. To hell with decency. "Have you ever lain with a lass before?"

Taken aback, he shot me a queer look. "What do ye take me for? A charlatan?"

My voice was shaky. "I…I only meant that…gracious, Patrick, we've known each other, what, a few months?"

"People marry in a lot less-"

"I'm quite aware of that! And yes! Of course I feel the same as you, I…" words seemed to escape me, and all I could think about was the night he had saved me from being raped. He had professed his desire then, too.

"You are about to go into the lion's den. It sickens me to know I canna protect ye where you are goin'. It kills me to think I may never see you again." He paused, wincing, and I knew he wanted desperately to say something, but it was taking all the energy he had to say it. "My uncle said when ye meet the right girl for you, you know. It isna logical, and it isna something you can let go. I didna believe him then…but I knew it was true. I knew the first night I met ye, when we danced at the castle in Perth, and you in yer bonny dress scoffing at all the courtiers…I thought I didn't have a chance…and then low and behold I see ye hours later fighting yer heart out in the barn, and even then, when ye saw me betray ye, it was like a knife stabbing my own heart." He paused once more, but his gaze would not falter. "I love ye".

It was hard to stand. I lifted my hand to let the tree beside me support my body. Surely he did not mean it, my mind stated. _It is lust, not love that spurs him to say such things. I wish to be free_, it said. But why is it, then, that at his words I instantly wanted to leap for joy?

Confused and slightly dizzy, I bent down to get water from my flask. I could feel his stare, though I did not dare look at him. He was waiting, waiting for me to either requite his affection, or scorn him. It is very courageous indeed for a man to say his true feelings.

But before I could even begin to think of an answer, an arrow buzzed inches from Patrick, protruding in the tree I had just leaned against.

Patrick instantly jumped on top of me, pushing me to the side as two soldiers came at him, swords drawn. The first fell before I could even blink. The second managed to nick a cut across Patrick's ankle, before the Scot punched him to the ground. I stood there stupidly, not quite sure what to do. In front, my eyes widened as about ten soldiers approached. Patrick got his sword and pointed it at them, the element of surprise no longer theirs.

Three at one time lunged at him, and while he was occupied two came after me. I ran, since no weapon was available. One caught me by the wrist, and despite my struggling would not let go. I kicked him in the shin, and his hand loosened enough for me to make a fist. I punched him straight in the jaw, and knew I had hit him hard because my hand throbbed with pain.

"Patrick look out!" I shouted as a fourth came from behind him. I jerked with surprise as Stephen came out of the blue, knocking the fourth man to the ground. Colum came but a second later, instantly gutting another soldier. Patrick continued his three to one fight, elbowing the first in the face as his sword lunged into the belly of the second. By now there were five soldiers left; two taking on Patrick, two with Stephen as the last fought bare handed with Colum, who had knocked the sword out of his hand.

The arrow came from out of no where. It struck its target high in the chest, exactly where the heart was. I watched with horror as the lad stood, eyes wide in shock, before falling limp to the ground. "Colum!" I shouted, running toward him. Patrick heard me and looked where I was running. His eyes widened, and a new sense of ferocity consumed him as he continued his fight.

In the distance, I could hear about a dozen horses approaching. Running as fast as I could, I got two of the horses, and brought them back as my two companions continued to fight. Stephen was down to the one soldier, while Patrick continued to fight two. Stephen slayed his opponent, and went to the body of Colum, lifting it onto the horse. "They're more coming!" I said, dreading how close they were. Stephen ran over to help Patrick, stabbing one from behind.

Suddenly something hard hit the back of my head, and I fell to the ground. Two hands tugged at me, and I wrestled to get away, but my strength was gone from the blow. About fifty feet away Patrick ran his sword through the man, and instantly began to come to my aid. He was stopped, however, by another arrow. Swift and silent, it pierced him to the left of his navel. In shock, he tripped and fell to the ground. I continued to wrestle the two men grabbing at me, shouting for the reinforcements to go after the Scots. I could see Stephen on the horse.

"Get him!! Go!!!" I shouted, my voice cracking. The horses of the soldiers were approaching quickly. I saw Stephen extend his hand, and with one quick swoop he hoisted the half awake Patrick onto the horses back. Patrick's eyes were closing, and his body swayed. I looked at Stephen once more. "Go!" I commanded, knowing they must go in order to live. I was not in danger. The English were almost upon us, and the men holding me let go to go after the horse. I did not move. I watched as Stephen kicked the horse, and rode passed the two men that tried to go after them. Soon the English brigade were upon me. Half left to continue the chase of the Scottish rogues, while the other half stayed to get me.

The leader of the soldiers dismounted, and I knew they had come for me. He was young and handsome, with long brown hair pulled tightly back. "Lady Aris, I presume", he stated. My knees gave way, and my head throbbed. He caught me as I fell, and scooped me up in his arms. Knowing what was to come, I feigned losing consciousness. I couldn't be questioned now. I was too shocked at what had just happened, too scared for Patrick…and definitely not ready to play the role of spy.

I could feel his hand brush the hair out of my face. "Someone get a cloth!" he yelled. A cloth was given, because I could feel him dabbing away the liquid from the spot where one of the soldiers had hit me. Was I bleeding? It did not matter. I kept my eyes closed as he lifted me onto his horse, and, with his arms wrapped securely around my body, we rode south. Presumably, to where my father was supposed to meet me.


	6. Arrival

Chapter 6

There is no point in looking back to see if I could have found another way, or taken another course. All decisions led to sacrifice. Nervously I stared out the small window as dusk fell, the faintest hint of light fading from sight. Hearing a voice behind me, I froze, my body trembling. Looking out I could see the northern hills, with the outline of the forest still slightly visible. A slight breeze caused the trees to dance, beckoning me to come. _If only you were there, right now. If only I could forsake this all, run as fast as my legs could carry me and swing across that brilliant chestnut mare of yours_. But fantasizing will not make me stronger.

"One moment." Distant, sad. I could not say it any other way. I clutched my chest, inside my heart pounded with a ferocity I could not describe. How is it that I could feel like death itself had swept me under its wing, yet my body wanted to fight? I refused to see the looking glass. I knew what I would find. It had taken the servant two hours to get my hair right, brushing and tying and brushing and tying until it felt glued to my head, no doubt in some intricate design meant to please. Powder had been sent as a gift from France, a substance that hides imperfections in the skin. The rouge probably made my lips plump and sensual.

Sighing deep, I closed my eyes_. I must not forget why I am here. I am sworn to King Robert the Bruce, I am sworn to Scotland_. I immediately remember a far deeper oath I took; God it seemed like centuries ago. I am sworn to defeat my father, and that ruthless king. For a moment, I see Patrick, abroad his mare, beckoning me. But I blink, and he is gone. All that remains is what I must do. I back away from the window as darkness fell, the last rays of light escaping to their hiding place. My left hand hurts; I had been clenching my fist. Opening it, I see once more where my actions have taken me, these long two months in England. It squeezes my finger; it was much too tight. For a moment I try to pull the newly placed ring off my finger, but stop. I have sworn many oaths this past year, and the most recent being earlier today. I turn around, and face him. My body is not my own. I give it in hope that one day, the Scots will win, and I can slit his bloody throat._ Patrick_, I whisper in my head, as I walk to my awaiting husband. _I'm sorry_.

2 months prior

We did not bother to stop at the drop off point. Instead, we traveled south. I feigned sleep and sickness, though my head barely hurt. After another few hours I realized my father never had any intention of accompanying the men. He was in London, pent up in his estate with his whores, waiting with indifference to hear whether I lived or died. Once comprehension dawned, my time spent unconscious needed to end. Soon after we arrived at an inn, and instantly the soldier helped me down, lifting me and practically running over others upstairs to a room.

I was done pretending to be ill, and as soon as my body hit the bed I lashed out.

"What in the name of-"

"Shh, milady. You're safe now. We had to make sure we were not being followed; Indeed I am sorry for the…bumpy ride you had to endure."

I sat up against the wooden bedpost, taking a good look at my captor. He could not have been older than three and twenty, but he wore the tags of a seasoned officer. His voice was calculating and official, there was no malice behind his apology.

Realizing I had struggled wildly with his soldiers just hours earlier, I looked down to see my dress half ripped, and instantly covered myself properly. He turned away without speaking.

"Where is my father?" I asked with authority. I could not play coy, nor could I appear spiteful. The English needed to see I was skeptical, yet glad to be rid of my captors.

He ordered a maid to bring fresh clothes and wash my face. As if an afterthought, he answered my question. "He graciously awaits your presence in London. He asked me to retrieve you from your captivity safely, and to return you home. I am Lieutenant Hawkins. Now I must ask before I leave, do you require medical attention…er….that is, have those filthy Scottish dogs…"

Finding his speechless phrasing quaint, I answered for him, trying my best not to smile. "I am perfectly whole, if that is what you mean. I require nothing save perhaps a spot of tea, and a well deserved bath. I had expected to be ransomed back to my father without all that bloody nonsense…" Playing the prissy Duke's daughter was by best angle for now. Let him think me spoiled, rather than badger me with questions about my captivity. I instantly thought of Colum. I could not grieve.

Taken aback, he rolled his eyes, assessing me with disdain. "I suppose that means you're alright then. If there is nothing else, I suggest you get some rest. We shall be riding straight to London."

"I shall require a carriage."

"I am afraid the inn is out of aristocratic fancies. Perhaps a wagon will suit you."

He was sarcastic and obviously did not like being talked down to, especially from an impudent girl. Keeping up the same attitude, I announced I required a sufficient wardrobe for the journey. He was about to leave when I called out. Knowing this would be hard to say, and mean it, I sighed.

"I aspect my father will compensate you well. I wish to thank you, Lt. Hawkins, for your services." I could not say "For killing and wounding my friends." He nodded, and shut the door. I jumped out of the bed and found the nearest pale. I could only vomit a little, because I had barely eaten. All I could do now was pray. _Oh Patrick, I thought. Be well. Do not come after me. _

It took nearly a week to make the trek to London. I said little, and rode faster than most ladies would have allowed. If she was alive, my mother would have been constantly nagging me to slow down. The soldiers said little in return, though I expected they appreciated the fact I could ride for hours without stopping, which made the journey go by faster.

I tried my best not to think about Patrick, and Colum, and everyone back in Scotland. When we reached the estate, located just outside the southeast castle walls, all the peasants came out to greet us, nodding as I rode past. My father stood at the doorway, with no trace of a smile on his old, weathered face.

Lt. Hawkins took my hand, helping me down from my horse. I curtsied to him, then to my father. It was as if I was returning from a long vacation with the cousins, not a greeting after having been kidnapped by so called vicious Scotsmen for months. He embraced me; it was cold and stiff. "Daughter."

"Father" I said, in equal tone.

Lt. Hawkins appeared stunned by our reunion, but simply had his hands folded behind his back, awaiting the Duke to speak.

"I had a dress from France sent over; a gift from the king for your safe return".

Two servants, ones I did not recognize, brought out the emerald color robe. It was of lace and satin, with gold trimming along the sleeves. _How was I supposed to react?_

"It's lovely father. I shall wear it for you tonight".

"Yes, yes. I have arranged a dinner in your honor a few days from now. Some most special guests will be there". I attempted a smile, but it was forced.

"I must go rest, it has been a most trying experience. Good day, Lt. Hawkins, thank you once again for your escort. Father". I curtsied once more, and was taken into the house. Upon entering my bedchambers, I shut the door, my strength leaving me as I slid my back down until my bottom rested on the ground. Taking my arms, I wrapped them around my legs and bent my head, shutting out the world. "Lord give me strength, for I feel beaten and alone. Keep him safe," I whispered.

I had been given a new servant; father did not enquire into the whereabouts of Branwain. He had not asked me anything at all; he only mumbled that they had kept me well fed. Her name was Sarah, and she loved to talk. I had barely spoken three words to her, and already I was sucked into an hour's worth of court gossip as she braided my hair.

"And of course you'll be meeting Mr. Jepsom, along with his three bratty daughters…" Sarah had begun. Within the first thirty minutes I had learned to tune her out, but her next words caught my attention. "And I believe Mr. Talbot will be in attendance". She had been talking about the dinner party that was occurring tonight. The past few days I had spent perusing the estate, meeting the servants and trying my best to stay out of father's way….for now at least. Sarah was attempting to push as hard as she could against the bloody corset, much to my dismay. Upon hearing the name Talbot, I took her arm, and pulled her off her task.

"Talbot you say? What does he do?"

A brush magically appeared in her hand and she stroked my hair, untangling the heavily contorted strands with little sympathy for the pain it caused to both me and my locks. "He's one of those middling sorts…he sold your father the estate, and I believe he deals with the legalities."

"A lawyer?"

"Mmphmm."

Mmphmm, indeed. I recalled one of my meetings with the Bruce, he had said someone by the name of Talbot would contact me, though I had no notion of how we would meet. Sarah now began to pull down the emerald dress over my arms. Looking in the mirror after the ensemble was complete, I had to agree with her; I did look rather fetching.

The party began with a feast, in my honor, followed by dancing and a comedic play. My father kept me close to him, introducing me to the many courtiers. I had been wrong to assume this to be a small dinner; it was an all out affair of the season, marked with such dignitaries as the Duke of Buckingham, the Duke of Albany, and several French ambassadors. _If only the king was here, and a real assassination plot could begin_, I told myself, trying to suppress a smile.

Many of the same faces I had seen at the ball in Perth were there, and the flashbacks to that night made me cringe. The ladies had all bustled around me, wanting to know the details of my captivity. They giggled when I described the Scotsmen with their kilts and beards; one lady dared ask if the Highlanders were larger…ahem….down there. To much laughter, I replied that one needn't sleep with a Scot to realize his size, all you had to do was smile at one and you'd see right away how big they are sticking out from their kilt. _Stephen would approve_, I mused as an afterthought.

It wasn't until after the dancing and the play began that I could steal myself away from the crowds, and luckily bumped into Mr. Talbot, talking to a young gentleman.

"Lady Tailur" he said, bowing slightly. He was in his mid- thirties, and towered over the English aristocrats in height. He was broad chested and bald, hardly the middling sort to be kept inconspicuous. Hardly the type of chap to be taken seriously as a spy or a lawyer; rather he had the look of a warrior. His companion fit the lawyer type; small and wiry, with brown hair pulled back in a dignified ponytail.

"I am Albus Talbot, your father's property lawyer. This is my assistant, John McKinley. I am ever so happy to hear of your safe return." He took my hand and shook it. Immediately I felt the paper in my hand, and without suspect put my hands behind my back and curtsied.

"Pleasure to meet you. I trust you are having a splendid time?" They nodded. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have other guests waiting."

Walking down one of the vacant corridors, I paused when I found a dark corner and opened the note. _Stables, ten minutes_.

"Not too subtle, are you?" I remarked to myself, and hurried back to the main hall where the play was still going on.

"Father, the excitement of all this has famished me. Might I retire for a while?" I whispered as he sat in his chair. He had been sitting next to the Duke of Albany, who gave me a wink.

"Yes, yes, but make sure you are back in time for the midnight celebration. I imported a special surprise all the way from the East Asian civilization." He was looking to the Duke, not at me.

"Of course…"

Walking swiftly, I feigned going around the corridor and waited until two of our guards passed, and then changed directions to the kitchen, where I could escape out into the stable yard.

I approached the darkly lit stables slowly. The door creaked as I made my way inside, shutting it tight behind me. Immediately a hand covered my mouth, and I fought the urge to scream. He let go and turned me around. "Were you followed?"

"I don't believe so".

"Good", he stated, and began walking toward the tack room. "We only have a few moments. You will want to get back to the party as soon as you can."

"How do I know I can trust you?" I blurted out.

He grinned. "I don't s'pose ye can. But then again, I had a hard time believin' the Bruce when he said I would be contacting a young English lady for information." His accent had changed, revealing his deep Scottish burr. His past pronunciation had been quite good, almost as good as Patrick's.

"And you chose to be a lawyer of all things…" I mumbled.

"What's that?"

"Nothing. I'm afraid I've only just settled into my new estate, and have barely seen my father, so I'm not sure what I should be-"

He rolled his eyes. "How about I be the brains, and you be the eyes and ears, hmm? Here's what I need to know- "

He went down a list of things, some easy to answer, some I had no idea. He made me repeat these things until it was engrained in my head. "I dinna care if it takes time to find the answers…only for heavens sake, be discreet and don't get caught. I'll find ye in a week's time."

"What if I have to contact you? What if I find vital information…or if I run into trouble?" I said that last part softly, in hopes that it would not come to that. I was nervous.

"Only…and I repeat, ONLY in the event of an emergency, ye can get me through contacting one of the kitchen servants; Maura is her name. Letters can be intercepted, so ye can only tell her through word of mouth to reach me. But do not use it lightly; her life, and mine, depend on it." He looked me dead in the eye, plainly not trusting me to get the job done. I nodded, breathing hard. He turned to go.

"Wait!" I called. "One more thing…my companions, the ones who were to take me to the drop off point…" I trailed off, not knowing how to finish.

He did not look back. "The last I heard, Lord Campbell will be fine…he's suffered worse wounds then that. They buried Colum next to his brothers; all five Macguires died for the rebellion." He spoke softly now, and turned back to face me.

"I told him I wouldn't do it; it would cause speculation, but he made me promise." Opening his hand was a ring band, simple and cheap, but I knew what it meant. I would be his when I returned. I took it, and placed it inside one of my dress pockets.

He turned to walk out, but stopped once more. "And for God's sake woman, keep it hidden. The both of ye make the hairs on my chest rise with your sillyness." As he left, I stood in the tack room for a few moments, placing the ring on my finger. A perfect fit. I smiled, and placed it back in my pocket, hidden away. _I will be yours_.


	7. Without strength

Ok so finally an update on the story, yayyy! Hope people still enjoy it, please review if you want to see more written. This chapter is the longest yet.

Contains some graphic violence (I feel like that TV announcer guy…)

Chapter 7

The weeks after my encounter with Talbot passed by quickly. After the dinner party my father had announced he was leaving the following morning on a trip "south", though no further details on the location or length of his trip were given.

"Take heart, my dear, for I am ensuring our future. Hopefully my tiresome efforts will produce a husband for you, and more power for our family," he stated, his last departing words to me. He had an unusually sly look in his eye, as if he were taunting me.

The following day, as the servants were getting supper ready, I ventured down to his study, hoping to find something detailing his whereabouts or motives. "Finding me a husband is surely the last thing on your mind when you have a military campaign, father…" I mumbled as I slipped past the corridor that leads into the kitchen, and clamored, without light, down the steps towards his study. The door had been locked, but I had anticipated this, knowing fully well he would have placed the key in the nearby library, as he had done in Perth. Earlier that day I had searched the library, and found the key to his study hidden inside the sole book on the second shelf without dust.

The study was cold and merciless without windows or décor. Instead, it held a desk in the back center wall, with two flanking tables covered in maps and documents. The maps were marked by the Scottish campaign, including the recent victories of Roxburgh and Edinburgh. The Scots were growing bolder, and King Edward II was growing frustrated. Berwick, Stirling, and Bothwell alone remained under English control.

I knew father would not keep his important correspondences lying about, but I searched as thoroughly as possible anyways. His purchase analog revealed a large quantity of weapons being sold to him recently, as well as fifty horses, some bought with His Majesty's sums. My father was stocking up, getting ready for something.

Finally, I looked in the waste paper, not yet soiled. The easiest way to get rid of letters was either to burn them or use them to wipe the ass clean.

My eyes widened as I unraveled a small piece of parchment, crumpled and stained. _The Bruce plans his move on Stirling by fall. No plans to invade England again. Slowly gaining his confidence- will know more by week's end. –S._

A spy was among the Bruce's inner circle, this was clear. Common soldiers were not privileged with campaign destinations until they moved out. This was interesting indeed. Stuffing the note into my dress, I sifted through the rest of the papers. Footsteps halted my search. The voices got clearer as they passed, two serving men striding down the hallway, not paying the study any mind. I overheard one state his intentions of love towards my maid, Sarah. The other retorted with a sexual joke. Soon their voices grew soft and distant.

Thinking I best leave, I locked up after myself, and hurried back towards my chambers upstairs. It wouldn't be 'til a few days later that I was able to meet with Talbot in one of the alleyways behind the market square. His assistant, John McKinley had dropped off legal papers at the estate, and I had slipped him a note revealing my intention of meeting with Talbot.

"Were you followed?" he asked, pretending not to see me as a man passed by us. It had rained all morning, and mud covered my dress. I gave him a look that said, _Trust me._

"Right…do you have anything for me?"

I showed him the letter, and he put it in his pocket, looking around. "This is good…and whoever sent this to Duke Tailur was correct, meaning they must be in high status with the Bruce. The king has only told a select few of his intentions to take Stirling, and it was to be a detailed campaign…the process would take months. But now…well, this note proves our vulnerability. The English will double the men in Stirling and change our logistics." He looked directly at me. "Ye did well, Aris. I must admit, I did not expect this at all. This letter changes the entire campaign."

Disregarding the compliment, I asked, "Do you have any idea who could have betrayed the king?"

He once more looked away from me. "No. But I expect upon handing this letter over to the Bruce, he will weed out the spy. But do not worry over such things, it is not your job. Just focus on intercepting information when your father returns." He started to walk away.

Before he could get out of whispering distance, I asked, "Talbot- what happens to spies? If they are caught?"

He looked at me, blinked, then looked away. The rain had begun to fall once more. "A fate worse than Wallace." Without turning back to face me, he walked out of the alley, and back towards his shop, leaving me once more alone.

Father returned three weeks later, and as I expected, did not disclose his whereabouts. I had used these weeks to remain inconspicuous to the household staff; sewing and reading in the mornings, and taking afternoon horseback rides through the country. I had no notion of whom my father employed to pay careful attention to me, so I assumed the role of lady of the house, keeping myself occupied to the running of the estate. Soon I was able to grasp the names of all the servants. Because this was not the Tailur country lands, there was no need to worry about harvests and livestock and farmer disputes. We were located near London, in close contact with King Edward II. Based on all the documents I had seen, it seemed that my father was an important figure at court among the military advisors.

I was not asked to go to court; my father had arranged this. The dinner party that had occurred weeks before was to show proof of my return from captivity, and to keep the court gossiping about the Scots. He was smart not to send me to court while he was gone. He would not want me talking about the experience to others. One thing that often baffled me was his own silence towards me.

He had not asked me one question since my arrival concerning my captivity. Nothing about where I stayed, what their manpower was, who commanded…nothing. At first I had brushed this off as his refusal to believe I might be "soiled goods" if I told him they had raped me, which is what many thought anyway. Perhaps he thought me too stupid to learn logistical observations. But there had to be more to this.

It was May, and though it was still cold the canvas around me changed, as colors of green and gold appeared along the hillside outlining our estate. It rained often, meaning our spring would be ample with color and life. It was hard to believe this, when my heart longed to be somewhere else. I missed laughter, and friends, and endless talks with Bree over both nothing and everything. Sarah surely could not keep her mouth shut, but I often tuned her out. Each moment I stayed I felt anxious to hear some news of the outside world, of the battles, politics, and even of the cultural arts. But mostly I ached for Patrick. I had kept my ring safe and hidden, absentmindedly touching it whenever I got worried or nervous.

On this English estate I was going mad; I was constantly thinking of ways to find information on father's actions, but he was more elusive with his reports and documents. I could not find pleasure in reading or riding, two pastimes that I have always enjoyed as a child and young woman; dreaming of adventures and romance, travels and philosophical encounters. I could play the part of lady of the house. I could play the role of dutiful daughter, speaking only when spoken to. I smile and curtsied when father's visitors came, noting their importance and what that meant for military purposes. But I was losing something quite valuable along the way, something I felt would put me in danger and take away from my cause: I was losing myself.

One afternoon Sarah came running towards me as I finished a walk among the hillside. "Lady Aris! You must hurry! His Grace desperately needs you bathed and dressed for dinner; an important noble has come unannounced." She said the last part emphatically, knowing her duties would triple that day.

Without telling me who, I stumbled back into the house, wondering who it could be. Important dignitaries had been coming and going all week; father was recently granted the title of Earl of Gloucester from King Edward II, making our family five times richer and ten times more powerful among the king's highest inner circle. Though nobles had been appearing a lot, this was the first time the household bustled with more activity than usual. Even Sarah seemed nervous, pulling on my knotted hair with more fervor than normal.

"Will you not tell me who it is?"

Sarah was pulling the last strand of my corset together, and I winced with pain. "Well, he's been in the study with His Grace all day and has not come out. I heard it from the kitchen girl who got it from the gardener who spoke to the stable boy, who claimed to have seen the black fluer de lis mark on the shield the nobleman brought with him. So naturally we all assume it to be Baron de Clifford."

"Robert Clifford?" I asked.

"The very same," she nodded, applying powder to my cheeks.

Robert Clifford was one of the most powerful barons in England, and in high company with His Majesty. He remains an expert soldier, and played a key role in the winning siege of Caerlaverock Castle on the Scottish border back in 1300. Though he must be a middle aged man by now, he continues to be talked about among court as a fervent charmer among married ladies. He himself was a widow with a young son, though as the rumors go, his marriage was loveless and full of adultery.

I appeared for supper wearing another dress father had ordered from France, a satin dress of midnight blue with gold embroidery. It marked our new, higher status at court.

Both men stood as I came into view, and I got a first look at the man the noblemen called "The Black Rogue," for his fighting abilities, and bedding enterprises. He had high cheekbones, a square jaw, and green eyes that went well with his tan skin tone and almost black hair. The only unfavorable feature could be the large scar that ran from his chin to his right ear, a battle scar from many years prior that had faded tremendously. He was handsome indeed, but the way he looked at me, staring as his chin lifted up, made my stomach queasy. He bore the same look as the two Scottish men who had tried to force themselves on me when I had run away from Patrick: pure and complete lust. He did not even try to hide it.

He took my hand and kissed it. "Milady, you are as beautiful as your mother…like the sun after a dark storm, welcoming and enchanting…" he stated, blurting out these poetic words as if he were reading them from a play script. Instead of having a robust and deep voice to match his athletic and tall physique; it turned out to be nasally and rehearsed; like a scroll keeper working in the king's library and not a warrior.

"You knew my mother, Your Grace?"

The slight grin of his face told me enough that he knew my mother well, perhaps more than my father realized. "Indeed. We were friends at court even before I knew your father." No surprise there- my father had risen to his status first as a soldier, then a baron by marriage to his first wife, who died only two months after wedding him. He became duke through his second marriage with my mother. His pride had always been his downfall, for his power was through marriage and alliances, not blood.

Father indeed noted his grin; and I wondered how he could remain so stoic when this baron lord had obviously had my mother before he did, and joked about it.

"Unfortunately Baron Clifford can only stay with us to eat, and must ride post haste to London after." It was an unfriendly tone- father obviously did not like this Robert fellow, and was merely using his influence to gain favor at court.

"Yes, pressing business with His Majesty…" Sir Robert stated to me, as if that was some accomplishment to swoon over.

"What a pity, Sir Robert. Perhaps next time I could show you our lovely estate," I said, without earnest.

"I shall take you up on that offer, Lady Aris." He stared at me once more, and though I was disgusted with the way his eyes roamed to my breasts, I smiled back.

"I was most anxious and excited to hear of your recent return to the land of the civilized. Though we had never met, your parents held a soft spot in my heart, and I nearly begged the king to let me rampage the Scottish wilderness to find you."

I desperately wished I could roll my eyes. "What stopped you?" I couldn't help but ask. Father cleared his throat.

"Now now, enough savage talk. There's been enough of that all day, and I am weary."

"Oh? I had heard you two were cooped away in the study all morning. Plotting away?" I innocently asked, though my father narrowed his gaze. I had to make the most of this visit.

Sir Robert cared not for my forwardness. "Indeed, which is why I must return to London so soon. The king will want to know of our progress. Rest assured, Lady Aris, the men who took you will soon be sent to the gallows."

Father gulped his wine, clearly wishing Sir Robert had not stated so much. It was through his look that I realized Sir Robert was not merely showing off, but that they had found a way to get to the Scottish leaders. I wish I knew how. After dinner, the Baron bowed to me, winking as he stood straight once more, and mounted his horse.

"I shall inform the king of your great endeavors, Your Grace," he stated to my father, who nodded. "And as to the other matter, I have agreed. As soon as can possibly be arranged." And with that, the nasally sounding knight rode into the night.

Talbot would want to know of this meeting, to be sure. The night wind picked up, and I looked at my father, who was staring at me. Shivers went down my spine, and I walked into the house.

In the morning, Father requested my presence in his study. As I walked in, I noticed the room to be practically barren. Seeing my surprised look, he commented, "The king has requested my constant presence as we endeavor on a new campaign, so I am relocating many of our things."

"A campaign? Does this mean the king plans to invade Scotland?"

"That is none of your concern right now. Whether at his palace or in the field, my position is so high I am one of the few entrusted by His Majesty to accompany him wherever he goes. Now, I have given your situation great thought as well, my dear."

"My situation? Do you wish me to go to court?"

"Heavens no, you would be much more useful elsewhere."

"I will do as you ask, father. Perhaps even…accompany you?"

He laughed; it was deep and sinister. I had heard it many times when he tortured his Scottish tenants and they claimed innocence of wrongdoing. "Dear girl, what need would I have of you by my side? No, your job is of great importance, and will surely secure our alliances among the high nobles." Marriage, he was speaking of marriage. I was afraid he would do this.

I gulped. "Whom do you wish me to marry, Father?"

He grinned, "Did the Baron make a good impression on you?" My look of horror told him everything he needed to know; I could not mask disgust.

"Father, he is as old as you!"

"And has many powerful friends. If our two families could join our security would remain. Are you not a dutiful daughter?"

"He is merely a baron while you are an earl!"

"And he is also the king's favorite knight."

"He is said to be a court seducer," I pleaded.

"Then he will show you how it's done right," he retorted sinfully.

"I cannot do as you ask."

"You will do as your father commands."

My mouth was dry and my head dizzy. "Why can I not stay here?"

The blow was fast and painful, enough to knock me to the ground. "WHY CAN YOU NOT DO AS YOU'RE TOLD?" He thundered. "Would you rather I send you back to those filthy heathens? Perhaps you would prefer their company?"

I stayed where I was, but did not look at him. I stared at the ground, wishing he would leave before the tears, that were inevitable, would flow out. Instead, he grabbed me and jerked me up, taking his hand to my jaw.

"You are my blood. My daughter. And I am Lord Gareth, the most feared and powerful noble in all of England, lest you forget. I have use of you, and unless you do not fear my wrath, you will do exactly as I say." He let go of me, wanting me to exit his study. As I closed the door, I heard him say, "They will come for you next month, and you will be Lady Aris de Clifford by nightfall. Do not disappoint me, daughter."

I was shaking as I turned the knob to enter my room. Inside Sarah was kindling the fire. "His Grace has asked me to accompany you into the city tomorrow to meet with the dressmaker. Marriage to the handsome baron!"

"Leave me," I stated with authority. "Now." She recoiled her smile and did as she was bid.

I paced around the room. God how could I have been so stupid? I knew this would come; any marriage was bound to happen. But I had hoped and prayed and pleaded that the war would take priority in my father's mind, and I could continue to spy for the Scots until this bloody conflict is won. In the back of my mind I always knew this would come. But I had imagined marrying Patrick. It was to him I wanted to have my body, my soul, and no other.

Seeing no other alternative, I did the only thing that made sense, and I went down to the kitchens, discreetly getting the girl Maura aside. "Go to Talbot. Tell him I must meet with him, it is a matter of great importance. Ask him to bring a spare horse. Tell him to meet me by the Chelsea Bridge at midnight." She nodded, scared by my trembling body and ferocious whisper.

My mind was spinning. What was I to do? I should have prepared for this, I should have better anticipated…my wild thoughts collided with my hands reaching for things to pack. If I was to leave tonight, I needed only what was necessary. One gown or two? _Oh, you fancy going to any parties once you run away_? My mind instantly stated. Forgoing the gowns, I grabbed the jewelry. Money, and lots of it, was most assuredly needed if not for me then for the cause.

It was easier than I imagined to slip away after dusk. I made sure both Sarah and the downstairs servant had seen me enter my room to sleep in nothing but my shift. I had retrieved rope from earlier when I entered the stables, and now used it to throw outside my window. There was but one sentry nearby on the grounds, and I waited patiently. Thinking ahead, during the day I had hidden my bag under the brush below, so now I had only myself to swing down. Finally, the guard needed to take a piss- and went round the next bend.

I moved quickly, my muscles tensing as I climbed my body out the window and lowered myself to the ground, retrieving my things in the process. The guard was returning. Quickly I used the brush as a shield as I stumbled along, finally reaching one of the sheds. There I waited, biding my time as the sentry stood still, listening for movement. A half an hour later he moved on to his next station, and I ran for it. I reached the wall two minutes later, praying no one had seen me. Now the tricky part. Maura claimed there was a break in the wall, barely visible on the west end, covered by bushes. A small tunnel some dog (or servant) had made to crawl underneath. With three guards fifty yards to my right, I moved slowly, sticking as close to the wall as possible. The bush in front of the hole would be marked by its parallel position from the sentry barracks. Tricky indeed.

No voices were heard around me. Finding the bush, I flew myself to the ground, crawling into it. Behind it, the hole, barely large enough even to fit a small girl like me. I wrenched myself out the other side of the wall, making sure there were no hidden outside guards. The bridge was a mile west of the estate, and I did not have much time. I ran.

Out of breath and ten minutes later, I could make out the bridge, with two figures standing on the other side. They had made it!

"Good. You knew it was urgent." I stated, unsure of where to begin.

"Milady you look flushed," young John stated.

Talbot interrupted. "Were you compromised?"

"No…I don't think so." I related to him the facts of my father leaving to be by the king for a campaign. "And I am to be married within the fortnight to the Baron de Clifford."

"And you would wish to leave tonight?" Talbot asked.

"There is no other choice," I said, but as I looked to each man, I knew they thought otherwise.

"A marriage to the king's favorite soldier would be to the Scottish crown's advantage…" Talbot began. John looked at me sympathetically.

"You cannot ask that of me," I said, shaking my head. _Had they ever met the baron?_

"I shall only say you must consider it. Yes, you could flee right now, and no one would think the less of you. You have done well, and we cannot ask ye to give up your free will to this cause. But I have made the same oath as you did, and rest assured I cannot live without the knowledge that I did everything for my true king to win this God forsaken war."

"You DARE to make me feel unpatriotic?" The anger and anxiety was rising within me. "I cannot…it goes beyond duty and advantages…I…I _am promised_," I said the last part quietly.

"To Lord Campbell?" he asked, and I nodded.

"And would you return to him now?" I nodded again. Is love stronger than duty? If Patrick had to choose between me and a duty to defend his king, I know he would choose me instantly. Then a nasty thought came to my head. Yes, we both would choose love without a doubt. We would both be blinded by it, scorn whoever would keep us apart. But to what cost? If he does not fight, the Bruce would lose both men and a competent leader. If the Scottish lost, the Bruce would be declared a treasonous dog to be sentenced to death, along with all the rebellion's leaders. In the end, it would be the villagers, the commoners that suffered the most- that Edward II would take his revenge against. I am promised to Patrick. But I am promised to my oath to the Bruce, to ensure success at all cost. I have given nothing worthy to be freed from my bond.

If I returned to Scotland, all I could do was watch as men, including Patrick, fought battle after battle, siege after siege, in the hopes of gaining minor advantages. Something big was approaching, and I was so close to discovering the truth. A marriage to the Baron would give me unlimited access to-

A new thought entered my mind. "Pa-Lord Campbell would never allow it." I spoke my thoughts out loud. "He would think I don't love him…it would break him." I spoke these intimate words to the Scottish spymaster, almost pleadingly.

Talbot grabbed my arms, almost as hard as my father had done. "Think hard, _Sassenach_." He was using the Gaelic term for outsider, which to most of the Highlanders, I was. "If you married Lord Campbell his clansmen and villagers would never trust ye- and it'll be damn hard for them to follow a leader with an English wife into rebellion. And what of that bastard father of yours? His Majesty told me of your hatred for him- would you give up your quest to destroy him and what he stands for- what he's DONE? You have a hard choice to make, girl…but make no mistake about it, either marriage will lead to sacrifice."

His words stung the depths of my chest. I found it hard to breathe, because his words rang true. It used to be that I had never wanted to get married, and now it seemed there were only two alternatives. _All roads lead to sacrifice if you do the right thing_, a voice inside told me.

Talbot's eyes softened. "No matter what ye choose, ye cannot leave tonight. Get back to your bedchamber-safely- and think hard. You'll damn sure need your wits if you stay, and a plan to give you safe passage will need to be devised if you leave. One thing I will say, and that will be the last of it- if you run, your Father will surely find out where you go. And if we don't win…I fear the king's vengeance will be nothing compared to Duke Gareth's: on everything you hold dear."

I gulped, not wanting to hear anymore. The assistant, John, gave me a sympathetic gaze. I looked back to Talbot. "I will give an answer to Maura by week's end. Until then, tell no one of this conversation."

He nodded, and I headed once more, back to the English estate. Back to my father.

For three nights I could not sleep. By the fourth day of starving myself, I had come to a decision. Once more I met with Talbot.

The rain was heavy, my cloak drenched. The hood that covered my face beat drips of water directly in front of me, while the wind unsteadied my balance. I stared at him, unwilling myself to blink. "If he does not believe you then he will come for me- that much I know to be true." _He would come barreling through England, declaring me to be a stubborn, arrogant girl bent on wishing him a heart attack_, I pondered. "What passes through us here tonight is only between you, myself, and the king."

He nodded, waiting, knowing my decision, but not my plan. "Tell him I am with child, and it is the Baron de Clifford's. Fearful of what was to happen to me, I agreed to my father's decision to marry me to the king's champion. Lord Campbell knows of my hatred for Duke Gareth, so it must be stated that I shall continue my post as spy."

Talbot gave me a quizzical, uncomfortable look. "And what if….Lord Campbell thinks it might be his, and you are merely saying it is the baron's so you can continue to destroy your father?"

I knew my cheeks were burning red. "He knows that would not be possible."

Talbot understood, and waited for me to continue. I sighed. "This part is imperative, otherwise he will think the child is made up too. You must say I came to you first, before my father, and confided in you my 'true' feelings."

"Which will be?"

"That I promised myself to Lord Campbell, though…though I did not love him, he was merely an end to an escape from a life of my father….and that during these lonely, scary (which was the truth) months away from everyone but my father, I developed, well, however you want to say it, make it clear to him that the Baron and I became..int…intimate," I stuttered, struggling to get the words out. Once more, his face made clear that he understood. "When I came to you, you told me by marrying the Baron I would be protected and have better access to campaign conversations and documents (which was also true). He will argue that I should have fled, that you should have taken me back to Scotland…" I could see it playing it out in my head, not because I was so cocky in his devotion to me, but because Patrick and I shared the same heart…and thus the same mind. I can imagine it happening so because it would be what I would say.

"And if he still doesn't believe me?" Talbot inquired, though I could tell he would agree to my plan.

I didn't say anything. The rain seemed to be pounding harder…or was that my chest? I had been in my right hand this entire time. I squeezed Patrick's ring hard once more, and then released it to the man in front of me. "Give this back. Tell him it was never meant to be, and a foolish boy like him should stick to his own people."

It was often hard to read Talbot's face, but right now I knew it to be one of pity. We spent a few more moments discussing what he should tell the king (simply that I was to marry the baron and continue to spy), and how Talbot and I would continue correspondence. The Clifford lands were vast and far away; though closer to the Scottish border up in the northwest. I assumed for now that there was a good chance I would be sent to court, but if the English continued with their plan to meet the Scots at Stirling, he might send me to the country estate. We agreed on explaining that I 'lost' the babe three months from now, early in the pregnancy, but stuck in my marriage. The thought of it all made me want to heave up my supper.

At last, we finally parted, not sure of when the next time we would talk or see each other again. He placed his arm on my shoulder. "For all your faults as…being a woman…you are a remarkable lady, Aris. I wish you luck, and I will do as you bid."

I couldn't tell, because it was raining so hard, but I swear I saw a teardrop leave his left eye.

In my bed later that night, I encountered a friend long missed. He could not age, and his warm blue eyes calmed my shaking body.

"I don't know if I can do this…did I make the right choice?" My voice was as small as a child's.

_There is no way one can know whether or not the choices you make are good or bad. You sacrificed freedom from men and aristocracy when you went with the Scots._

"I hardly went with them, I was sort of taken, if I recall."

_You could have escaped. But you stayed, and learned that your desire for freedom had nothing to do with men at all…for you fell in love, and devoted yourself to a cause._

"And now I am giving up the man that I love for…for…"

_You sacrificed Patrick in the hopes that your work will produce enough fruit to clear you of damnation in your own eyes. _

His words angered me. "I sacrificed him because I know no matter what the outcome, it would be better for him to just forget me…marry a nice girl from his clan, and let me do what I must without getting hurt by him and his stubborn…arrogant…pig-headed-"

_You will tire yourself out if you list all his qualities._

"I thought I was already asleep and dreaming?"

_Listen, Aris. You fear losing him. You fear losing yourself. But ultimately, you fear that no matter how intensely you labor, you will not erase the sins of your father._

"You sound like Patrick," I gruffed.

_You have much left to learn, little owl. I'm afraid that you will experience pain and loss again. But take heart. It is your love for others that causes such anguish, and without it you will be no greater than your father._

"What am I to do, William? Tell me what to do," I pleaded.

_Be strong, Aris. You have more courage than all the kings of the world. You have God on your side. And me._

"There's some comfort…a figment of my imagination to protect me…" I stated curtly.

If ghosts could laugh, I think he did.

_**(Previously in chapter 6)**_ There is no point in looking back to see if I could have found another way, or taken another course. All decisions led to sacrifice. Nervously I stared out the small window as dusk fell, the faintest hint of light fading from sight. Hearing a voice behind me, I froze, my body trembling. Looking out I could see the northern hills, with the outline of the forest still slightly visible. A slight breeze caused the trees to dance, beckoning me to come. _If only you were there, right now. If only I could forsake this all, run as fast as my legs could carry me and swing across that brilliant chestnut mare of yours_. But fantasizing will not make me stronger.

"One moment." Distant, sad. I could not say it any other way. I clutched my chest, inside my heart pounded with a ferocity I could not describe. How is it that I could feel like death itself had swept me under its wing, yet my body wanted to fight? I refused to see the looking glass. I knew what I would find. It had taken the servant two hours to get my hair right, brushing and tying and brushing and tying until it felt glued to my head, no doubt in some intricate design meant to please. Powder had been sent as a gift from France, a substance that hides imperfections in the skin. The rouge probably made my lips plump and sensual.

Sighing deep, I closed my eyes_. I must not forget why I am here. I am sworn to King Robert the Bruce, I am sworn to Scotland_. I immediately remember a far deeper oath I took; God it seemed like centuries ago. I am sworn to defeat my father, and that ruthless king. For a moment, I see Patrick, abroad his mare, beckoning me. But I blink, and he is gone. All that remains is what I must do. I back away from the window as darkness fell, the last rays of light escaping to their hiding place. My left hand hurts; I had been clenching my fist. Opening it, I see once more where my actions have taken me, these long two months in England. It squeezes my finger; it was much too tight. For a moment I try to pull the newly placed ring off my finger, but stop. I have sworn many oaths this past year, and the most recent being earlier today. I turn around, and face him. My body is not my own. I give it in hope that one day, the Scots will win, and I can slit his bloody throat._ Patrick_, I whisper in my head, as I walk to my awaiting husband. _I'm sorry_. **_(Back to the present)_**

Patrick had saved me from the Scottish brutes. This time, I would have to save myself; the only way I knew how was to imagine it was him the entire time. _I cannot feel shame_, I told myself.

The Baron de Clifford ran his fingers along my exposed shoulders. "I imagined your skin to be this soft," he whispered in my ear. We were standing at the foot of the bed. I could not look into his eyes. He turned me around, as if I was a lifeless doll, and I allowed it. Seeing the corset tied tight, he gruffed and I felt a knife snap the many twisted strings apart. He ripped the corset off, causing the top part of my dress to fall. From behind, his arms closed in around me, and his hands gripped my breasts, hard. His breathing, too, became harsh.

He fumbled with the rest of the gown, not caring that he tore yet another piece as he clamored to get me naked. He could not even wait for me to be put into my bridal shift- he had sent Sarah out as soon as we had said our vows and made our way into our rooms at the king's castle. The dress off, he stood behind me, breathing so heavy I knew exactly where he stood. He wanted me to turn around on my own. I scoffed at the thought.

Next I heard the sound of him unbuckling his breeches. What happened next took all my might not to scream and cry my anguish. He did not even lure me to the bed, soft and inviting. He had bedded many women, probably with passionate foreplays and erotic bedding techniques. But with me, his wife, he needed to perform no such charming manners. He took my from behind, pushing me against the dresser. I bit my lip as he worked, and then he turned me around, my back on the wall. It hurt, and I couldn't help but let my mouth open and a noise escape. It hurt a lot more than I expected, but then again, I had atleast expected a proper first night treatment of a wife. Thankfully, it was over soon. My husband did not ask me to bed.

Wiping the blood off his leg, he smiled. "Well, those Scottish bastards really never did lay a hand on you…Your father could have paid a lot less for you, had I known you to be a true virgin." He put his pants back on, while I stood, still exposed, against the wall.

He kissed me on the lips. "I know that was rough, my beautiful wife…but I had been told it is the best way to see if a girl had been..eh..plucked, before. Next time will be more gentle, and you will come to love both me, and our bed. Do not tremble…by God your skin is flawless…I will make you happy, I promise. Get some sleep- I have a bit of work to do." And with that he walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Indeed I was trembling quite violently. In no part of that could I imagine Patrick. I no part of that could I not feel shameful…disgusting…vile. My back slid down the wall, and I wrapped my naked arms around my naked legs.

Wallace was wrong- I was not courageous nor strong, nor was I any longer solely and completely Patrick's. I sat against the wall on my wedding night, weeping for all that I was not.


	8. The Black Rogue

Chapter 8

Ok, so there are some not PG moments in here, just a warning. Thank you for the reviews, I wrote and rewrote this chapter 5 times now, so hopefully it came out okay. And yay! The return of a character from Braveheart (I know I haven't exactly mentioned the movie much).

Chapter 8

Chills ran down my spine; his hands were rough after years of sword fighting, but they moved in a caressing motion. He had been true to his word; each night he came to me, he was gentler than the last, soothing and calming me like he would a newly broken mare. I could not fight, I could not pull away—he had to think I was warming up to him. He could not suspect my true feelings. My body loathed his touch, my spirit detested his smiles. It took all my might not to show such repulsion openly. It wasn't simply what he had done to me on our wedding night. Nor was it the way his eyes had roamed me up and down like a ravenous creature when he first set eyes on me. No, in the days since I've been married I have learned much about my husband.

The lovemaking was bearable; I could simply shut my mind down and let him do as he pleased. It was when he spoke that my teeth clenched and my body froze. "It's hard to imagine those heathens never laid a finger on you…your eyes alone make my loins burn.." he whispered as he kissed my chest.

He required me only once or twice a week; the rest of the nights I suspect he lay with his whores and mistresses at court. For two months I had endured his random visits to my chamber, hoping each night he would reveal some sort of military plans. But none came. Instead, he exposed a little of himself to me, and ironically, he loved me most when I let him lay his head on my stomach, caressing his scalp like a mother would a child. It was during these times that he would reveal things from his past; his childhood, his best friends, small stories meant to show me he was in fact human. When he came to my chambers drunk, though, he usually sought only my body. This was such a night.

Not knowing what to say, I let him continue. "Though your father and I are not the dearest of friends, I must say we share similar interests. This whole business with the Scots—for many nobles it is tiresome politics that they would rather have parliament deal with. For your father- well, we both know his pride was severely hurt when they took his lands and his daughter. For me…I must say, the Scottish warriors have always fascinated me. Excellent swordsmen, to be sure. Did you know that I once saw the great William Wallace?"

He was lying next to me, and I turned on my side to face the other way. His hands now scurried down my back. "No I did not." Nor did I want to hear of it.

"The day of his execution- you must have been a mere child at the time- I saw the way he cried out for his country. It was as if fear could not touch him…it was then that I knew the Scots were a powerful enemy, a worthy enemy of my sword." He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me.

"I have seen much of the world. Most of it is full of scavenging mongrels who turn sides as soon as they can decipher the winner. No shame….in every land it's the same. But the Highlanders…they, my dear, are a true match to fight. Thank God His Majesty sees this, and wants to give the world a war worthy to talk about for a thousand years." His passion for glory would have made me shudder, but my ears had perked like a dog at the word "Majesty'.

I turned back to face him. "You mean the King wishes to pursue the Scots?" Stirling had been taken a month before, and much court gossip was about the anger of the king.

Robert was off in his own world, scarcely realizing my sudden curiosity. He indulged me. "The King wishes to see every last Scot burned into ash. But the latest breaching of our northern wall led the king to call together all the earls and barons and nobles. Most of the cowards wished the king to call a truce. A truce with the Bruce, hah! But our Majesty is not so feeble as to fall prey to their wishes. Though he can never be the man his father was…this king has enough pride to drown out the parliament wenches and listen to nobles like your father."

"Wouldn't forgoing parliament mean infringing on the Ordinances?" I asked. He lifted an eyebrow, probably unused to a female talking politics. Luckily his arrogance was on my side, and it seemed he did not dwell on my prying nature.

He then grinned. "That is precisely the moment when your father barged into the fray, demanding all the nobles put aside their squabbles and stand firm for the king, for he would surely lead them to victory by sheer volume of men. Slowly the others began to agree. Within minutes, half the nobles had pledged men and swords. I aspect the king will soon be demanding due service from the rest. Even with only half the barons and earls accounted for, our numbers surely surpass the meager few warriors of the Highlands. I'm sure you found they are a stubborn breed; it will be hard to get all the clans to fight together without Wallace, which is what the king aspects."

My mind was spinning. I had to know more. I put my hand on his chest and snuggled under his arm. He was a fool, unlike my father, who could give away nothing. "The entire court talks about you as if you are a god on the battlefield. I confess…a small part of me wishes to see your accomplishments with the sword, since I already know much of your deeds…elsewhere." I grinned up at him, and he kissed my full and passionately on the lips. For all the snake he was, I could see why girls melted under his gaze.

"You are truly proving to be a worthy wife, my love. Believe me, you will hear of my skills soon enough, but for now, I think I will show you my other assets…" He gently got on top of me, but I wouldn't let him win, not quite yet. He kissed me once more, but I put a hand to his lips.

"Is that another way of saying you are leaving me soon, husband?"

He could not help but smile, and I smiled back. "Wanting to get rid of me so easily, are you? Alas, I have revealed too much in your presence. But I suppose you would find out soon enough. The King has sent the Earl of Pembroke to ride ahead with his men to seek out the ambushes of the Scots, and prepare the king's route to Scotland. The Earl of Gloucester, myself, my men, and the Earl of Hereford will follow shortly thereafter with the King's household and His Majesty himself. I cannot imagine it to be more than a few weeks until we join Pembroke."

"Can I not go with you? Who knows how long a campaign could take, and my bed will be so lonely without you," I stated, caressing his neck with my fingertips.

"I should have known Gloucester's daughter would be fearless. To be able to return to the land you were kidnapped to, just to please me…you astonish me, my lady. But you know very well it is not the duty of a nobleman's wife to accompany him into savage land. It would not befit your status. But do not fret, we shall make every night til I leave as if it is our last here on earth, and I will pleasure you in ways you can scarce imagine."

Knowing he would not speak more of it, I let him do as he wished. The knight was true to his word, and asked nothing in return for his services. And whilst the Black Rogue worked beneath me, I let my tears fall, praying that God keep Patrick safe. I knew now that no matter how much I loved him, I could not try to imagine him as my lover. All that mattered was delivering this news to the Bruce, and hope they could assemble enough man and horse and weapon together to defeat the English.

It took a few days, but finally I was able to get in touch with Talbot. I had lived among the king's court for two months, and Lent was nearing. Life at court was terribly dull in all honesty- I had expected much more social engagements. The king had used much of his treasury throwing elegant parties night after night. But since the Scottish risings within the past year, many a noblewoman was keen to tell me the "fun had stopped", and now the king only focused on his military efforts, closed away with his advisors. Instead of masquerades and hunts, court life consisted of men talking and women complaining.

Needlework, a pastime I despised, became the primary enterprise ladies took to be with one another, along with dancing and music lessons. Because everyone knew everyone's business, it was highly suspicious for a lady such as myself to venture off into the city without a male escort. The best time for such a move came after supper, when the men sought each other's company in politics whilst the women retreated to gaming. My presence was always required at the evening meal along with my husband, but after I could do as I wished.

Putting on an inexpensive cloak and my simplest dress, I set off through the kitchens and out the east gate. I gave the guard a few coins, explaining I would be back soon and to open the door for me after I was done visiting my cousin across the Thames River. In a simple gown, it would not look acceptable to return to the palace gates and expect the guards to see me as a baroness and not some lowly merchant's wife.

I soon met with Talbot, and reiterated all that I had learned from my husband's drunken stupor.

After I had finished, he grinned. "It is good to see you, lass."

A bit annoyed and touched at the same time, I stated, "Yes, well, it's lovely to see you too, but might you engage me with your own news?"

We were at a small inn on the southside of the river. Both of us drank from our cups of ale and peered about. No one was taking any interest in our conversation. Most folks were probably mixed up in their own talks that did not want prying ears about.

"I will see to it that my men get word to His Lordship on this matter- and this IS new information for us. The Earl of Pembroke will surely get a surprise when he tries to bring his lot across the border…"

"I take it you will triple your men guarding the border? He did not specify where, but I bet you a new hat it shall be by Windlelow Forest. It's where I would cross, hidden by trees but wide enough to bring horses and wagons."

To my dismay, Talbot lifted an eyebrow in amusement. "Military advisor as well as spy now? Perhaps we placed you in the wrong line of employment."

Seeing my frown, he broke off his smile. "I must admit I have been quite worried for you, milady. The last time we spoke…" he did not know how to continue, but I knew where his train of thought was going.

"The cause is worth whatever sacrifice I must make, Sir Talbot. The news I brought tonight confirms that I have made the best choice." Seeing him bashful, I realized what he truly wanted to ask.

"It is bearable." And that is all I would say on the matter.

He hid his head and munched on a piece of stale bread. "Do you wish to know…that is…I have spoken with Lord Campbell," he began, unsure of if I wanted to hear of it.

"Did he buy it?" I asked, my body growing stiffer by the second. I took another swig of ale.

"Perhaps it is best not to dwell on the matter-"

"Talbot," I warned.

He desperately wanted to avoid my gaze, but I was quite good at commanding people to stare back. He sighed heavily, which made my breath short and tight. "He said it matters not what the Sassenach did with her life. He…did say he wished you all the happiness with your husband and child."

My throat was immediately dry and my head dizzy. "So he ate it up without question or complaint. Good…good. That's one less thing to worry about. Perhaps he can move on and be happy with a nice Scottish girl." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, Talbot blushed. Coming from a man that was extremely hard to read, I sighed.

"Oh…he…already found someone."

"He is to marry the Lady Sibhoiun McCulloch within the month."

"That pigbreathed vixen?!" I bellowed, overcome with rage. "Of all the women in the world…"

"That's not fair lass, she's a good soul, if a trifle….passionate against outsiders. She's make a good wife for him. Remember, you chose to give him up." The words were harsh, but necessary. I took a deep breath and nodded, banishing the thought of her grubby hands on his back, his chest…

He started chuckling. "I never knew a vixen whose breath reeked of swine…"

I rolled my eyes, but let the edge of my mouth curve into a smirk. "You obviously haven't been around the English court long enough."

I raised my hand and indicated to the wench to bring two more pints. Talbot shook his head. "No more for me, thank you."

"I'll have his" I told the girl.

Talbot and I conversed a little while longer, discussing the Bruce's current army numbers, and which nobles were pledging allegiances. Now that rumors of a large scale battle would occur, it was high time the Bruce knew for sure what clans would answer the call. Many had refused to be included in the small invasions against England within the past few years, but an all out battle would force the clans to decide under whose reign they were to be subjected to.

"I will continue to find out more information before Baron de Clifford leaves along with the king." I refused to say 'my husband'. "But I must ask you, Talbot, what will my course of action be when all the nobles leave for Scotland? My- -the Baron has made it quite clear that wives of English knights don't follow their husbands to battle."

Talbot pondered this for a moment. "It will not be to your advantage to remain in England if this campaign proves to be a turning point. I hesitate to say you should leave," he saw my mouth curve into a smile, and put a finger up. "Because I don't know how safe it will be for you to abscond from London."

While he spoke, I finished my two pints, and quickly started on my third. "I assure you, Talbot, if my father and de Clifford go into Scotland, I will not stay behind to knit and wait for news of victory from either side."

He chuckled. "I suppose you won't. But we do not have to discuss this matter quite yet. There is still time to think on this. And who knows- if Pembroke is taken by our men, perhaps the English king will reconsider blundering into the Highlands."

"Perhaps," I repeated. But unlikely, I thought. Dark had fallen over London, and soon my husband would go to bed. Talbot and I paid the innkeeper and left, the spymaster accompanying me as far as the boat by the Thames. The Palace was just over the river to the west, and it would not be wise to be seen with the lawyer. The fog was thick that night, and the boatman did not come into view until he pulled right up on the dock.

"You have done well, Aris. Please know that our king appreciates your tireless efforts."

I smiled. "I will see you soon, my friend. And hopefully next time I will have more news to tell…news that will only plunder my father's efforts." He helped me into the boat, and retreated as soon as we had pulled away from the docks.

The night was cold, and I wrapped my cloak tighter against me. Oh Patrick, I thought. Would he really not think twice on what Talbot had told him?

The ale was not strong enough to work its magic on me. As I made my way across the gate and along the castle corridors to my room, I kept imagining that bitch's mouth on his, her eyes staring into his as he completely forgot who I was.

My bedchamber was empty, and it was almost midnight. That meant Robert would not be joining me tonight. Just as well, I thought. My maidservant Sarah had joined me in the court palace, and looked quite flustered when I came in at such an hour. Her eyes had bags under them, and I could tell she had waited up for me, though she would have to wake in a few hours. I sent her to go get some wine for me and some fruit for herself. Within minutes I sent her to her chamber in the next room, and sat down in my chair, drinking heavily from the pitcher.

My head ached and spun, but all I could imagine was the way Patrick held me close to him. Now he would whisper sweet nothings to that harlot. My mind wondered back to that time that I had lifted his shirt in the forest, our arms entangled around each other as our lips explored neck and chest. But we had held back. _You had held back, I told myself. You and your purity…and now you will never know the depths of pleasure he could have given you, the sense that both your bodies were a perfect fit, a match for your kindred souls_. _And now you are alone. Utterly and completely alone._

I tried to stand but felt the room spinning. I had told Sarah earlier not to bother with my dress, I could certainly put on a nightgown all by myself. Now I was not so sure. How much had I drunk? I wondered, seeing the pitcher of wine almost empty. I tried unlacing the backings of my dress, but it was taking far too long, and I shouted a curse.

"What exactly are you doing?" a familiar voice sad from behind. I had not even noticed the door open. Robert stood at the door, giving me a quizzical stare as his eyes roamed from my face to my dress to the table of wine.

I swayed a little. "I simply do not understand why dressmakers refuse to let women be able to do things for themselves. You need an army to undo this thing," I jabbered.

He chuckled. "You, my dear, are drunk, and allow me…" he stated, putting his hands on my back, easily untying the corset.

I looked around. "Where is my bloody nightgown?"

"Should I summon Sarah to find it?" he asked.

"No no no, that's just silly to wake the poor girl for…such a silly task. Forget it, I shall just sleep in my gown." I don't understand why I was talking so much. I never babbled on such with him before.

He sighed, taking off his boots. "And where were you, hmm? Out galavanting with one of the court sluts?" I enquired, not caring that I had gone too far. I think he was sitting by the bed, but the room was spinning so fast-

"Is that what you think? You may be quite intoxicated, my young fawn, but that is no way to speak to your husband."

"I shall speak to him whatever way I please," I stubbornly slurred. I gulped in the last of the wine. My foot stumbled, and I lost my balance. I almost crashed right onto the floor, but he caught me just in time.

"Perhaps you should speak no more and retire to bed, my sweet."

Was he really not taking advantage of a drunk woman? I almost laughed at the thought.

"I doubt I am your only sweet at night, my lord."

He sighed. "Are you looking for a fight? God knows you haven't been this arrogant and stubborn with me before!"  
"You hardly know me, husband. I am much…more learned, and strong, and…." We were both standing by the bed, me clinging to the post for support. I pushed his chest, his back hitting the bed. I leaned forward "and much more passionate than you realize." It was then that he kissed me, shutting up my blabbering tongue. It was not gentle, nor was it forced. Our tongues began a battle of their own. We came up for breath only momentarily, and he used his arms and hands to roll me beneath him on the bed.

"I don't know why" he started. "But your lack of prudent thought" he kissed me. "And fiery temper" he kissed me once more, "Have left me utterly at your mercy." He hiked up the folds of my dress, working beneath me. After I let out several groans of pleasure, I bade him stop, but he wouldn't. I dug my nails into his back, but that only spurred him.

He came up from under me and bared my chest open, cupping my breasts and letting out his own noises. I had the sudden urge to slap him, to tear him off me and shout that I was not his. But I was not anyone's…and I was alone. I had never let the drink affect me in such a way, but I felt my legs spreading on their own accord, numb to my head and my conscious. Soon we began the rhythmic swaying on the bed, our joint noises drowning out everything else. Every time we had lain together, I had faked that reaction that most women make at the climax of making love. Robert could not give me what I desired. Tonight was no different, and as his seed filled my body, I realized I would never find physical relief in this man. We lay for a moment, breathing heavily against each other. Though I could not receive that sensation women often talked about with such fervent desire, I knew the events that unfolded tonight proved one thing. Patrick Campbell would never take back a woman who willingly gave herself to another man. And now the lie he had been fed was turned into truth. He could no longer be in my thoughts, my actions, my heart.

The news reached me days later- the Earl of Gloucester, my father, had captured a Scottish spy, reputed to be a lawyer to many court nobles. A servant had come in the middle of the night, waking both myself and Robert. I listened in as the man told the baron his presence was requested in the Tower.

The Tower. It was what noble and peasant alike feared- a fortress known for the execution of treasonous subjects; a dark prison where spies were tortured and religious monks held futile prayers for damned souls. "Talbot," I whispered, hoping it couldn't be true.

The Baron was returning to our chamber, and I hurriedly jumped back into bed so he wouldn't know I was spying. "Something has come up, I must go to your father at once." He immediately began dressing.

Why did my father wish for the baron to join him? The Earl did not enjoy his son-in law's company, and if the servant was correct, that would mean my father desired Robert to be present for the torturing.

Thoughts swam in my mind: Were Talbot's men able to inform the Bruce of the English campaign? Did Talbot get compromised on the night of our meeting, or a few days after? Was I compromised as well? Could anything be done to spare him?

I realized I could not breathe. I knew the risks going into this, but now….everything was falling apart. I had to see him. I had to…be there for him…find out answers…save him. There was no one left to turn to.

My plan was soon set in motion. The Lady Reston had been accused of adultery a few months prior. Her husband, the Baron de Winter, a close friend to King Edward, still in love with her, confined her to the Tower for exactly one year. She was allowed visitors, and it was to be my excuse to go to the dreaded fortress under guise of a friend. That, however, was the only part of the plan I could come up with.

As I approached the Tower hours after having learned poor Talbot was somewhere inside, I felt a cold chill run down my spine. Looking up, I could see naught but dark stone rising toward the perilous looking clouds. A few drops of rain had begun to fall, and the guards hurried me inside. The clank of chains and the smell of death could be found from below, and I realized Lady Reston would be in an entirely different part of the Tower; away from those below her station. I fumbled with my gift basket of wine and cheese. What was worse, the guards escorted me side by side right into her cell, locking the door behind me.

It seemed the Baroness was allowed a bed, a small table with a candle that was almost empty, and a cot for her servant. Her station bequeathed more light than other cells, and three windows gave her enough sun during the day to not need the candle. The Lady, unsure of who I was, stood by her small table, giving me a quizzical stare as her servant made the bed tidy.

I curtsied. "Good day, madam. I am the Lady de Clifford, newly arrived at court. Many of the ladies at court have told me of your…unfortunate plight, and I thought how perhaps a new face would…well, to be quite honest, I doubt you will find my reason to be here good natured. No doubt you will assume I am merely coming to see the court's latest attraction of gossip."

With her eyebrows raised, the blonde woman spoke. "I had no idea I was so entertaining at court. They must all be bored to focus such attention on me." Her French accent was strong. As I stared at her, I at first thought her to be in her twenties, based on her soft skin and glowing cheeks. Only the slight lines around her eyes betrayed such an idea, and I realized she was somewhat older than I first suspected.

The Lady Reston was Her Majesty's first lady in waiting, arriving with Queen Isabella from France. It was said that the two were inseparable, and once the Lady was arrested, the Queen begged audience with the King everyday to have her released.

"So if you are not here to gawk and goad me, what is your motive to come?"

Her soft, sweet voice begged me to tell her the truth. "I had heard a friend of mine was recently imprisoned in the Tower, and hoped to find out more without being suspected of God knows what."

Her eyes immediately gave away her sympathy. "Alas I know nothing that goes on in this dreadful prison. I don't believe I can help."

"You already have, madam. By visiting you I have a reliable alibi." I knew I was being far too trusting of the woman, but one thing the Irishman Stephen had told me was that the Queen and her lady Reston had always been sympathetic to the Scottish plight, and had even helped William Wallace escape capture.

"Alibi's and imprisoned friends? I see that you are no ordinary courtier, Lady de Clifford. I am glad Baron Clifford took on such a sprightly wife. I did not even know he was getting married." Her sorrow for such a small gossip proved her misery at being left to solitude in a damp prison.

I took this moment to put the wine and food on the table, offering her to enjoy it now among company.

As I poured her a glass, I decided the woman was as close to a friend I could get in London. "Do you ever miss your home country?"

The mention of France made her smile. "What a difference my province was to this foggy, miserable country. In France you can lie in the sun or run through fields of flowers, rarely worrying about a cloudy day. Here there is nothing but gloom- both outdoors and inside the palace."

"A lonely existence," I said, not realizing how insensitive the statement was.

"I suppose prisons are meant to break the spirit. But I see in you that the Tower is not the only prison in London."

I smiled. "My misery is that apparent? I must say I do miss the countryside- England does from time to time persuade the sun to come out. I take it you have only lived in London since you arrived with the Queen?"

She smiled back, swallowing her cheese and sipping the wine. "In the beginning it was quite grand. We paraded through the country, the princess eager to be a good queen to her subjects. I was so proud of my friend…and joyous to be alongside her. I knew she would give this country the mercy it so desperately wanted. But her husband had different ideas…" she drifted off, not wishing to say more. I was still newly acquainted, and I doubted her feelings toward King Edward were that of loyalty and love.

I knew for fact that the Queen tried to visit her loyal lady in waiting as often as she could. It was in this hope that I tried to correctly word my plans.

"…To be just as ruthless and barbaric as his father. If only we would be rid of such a tyrant." I finished her sentence, openly stating treasonous words. She stared me down, still weary of whether or not I was attempting to trick her into agreeing.

I looked toward the door and lowered my voice. "I realize you will probably not believe me. I am a servant to a much greater King, and I seek today to spare the fate of a man serving a greater good than England's war mongering monarch. If you know of any way I can get down to the lower prison cells, I beg you to tell me." I was staring straight at her, without blinking. My father often said people lie by avoiding one's gaze, and I made sure she knew I was looking only at her.

For a few moments neither of us spoke. Finally, she sighed heavily, the small wrinkles on her forehead becoming more apparent. "There is a chapel on the Westside where I am sometimes allowed to pray. You can…hear the screaming a lot clearer and there is a corridor I sometimes see many a priest go into; the sound of steps echoing after."

It took much courage to risk exposing herself in such a way, and I nodded my gratitude. I got up to leave. "Tell the queen…tell her that there was a man we mutually admired, and we both desperately miss. Tell her his dream will come true, soon. Very soon. And any help given to accomplish this would be greatly appreciated by his people."

Surprised by my words, her eyes widened. But that is what told me she understood exactly what I had meant. She nodded, and I shouted for a guard to let me out.

As the door closed behind her, I felt a tugging at my heart. Here she would remain until her husband saw fit to release her. No doubt he was committing adultery at this very moment, but it was not himself to blame under English law. If the queen cannot help her, I certainly cannot either.

I now focused on what I could do, and who I could help. Turning to the guard beside me, I ventured, "I would like to pray for the Lady Reston and for her repentance. Might there be a chapel nearby?"


	9. The Shells of Life

Chapter 9

I had been sitting in the Tower chapel for fifteen minutes, watching the guards, priests and courtiers move in and out. It was relatively empty at the moment; only the Earl of Rochford's wife sat in the chapel, probably praying the ol' bastard of a husband would die soon. He had been imprisoned in the Tower for twenty years, during the days of Longshanks' reign. It was unlikely Edward's son would be lenient to a man of eighty nine, but his poor wife had gone and fallen in love with Rochford's cousin. Until Rochford died, she was stuck without title or estates, stripped of her bloodline by Edward II.

I myself bowed my head and began to pray, knowing that only God could save Talbot from my father. But I needed to find out what information he would acquire. According to Talbot, it was not a matter of strength or wits that kept a spy from blabbering on under torture. Knowing my father, and what he was capable of, no man of any valor could withstand his methods of interrogation and not utter a word. I began to wonder what possible purpose there was to being in the Tower, at this very moment. Reason foretold that I was powerless to save the spymaster. Reason also told me to leave in case I was mentioned. But I couldn't. I had to know. I had to…be there.

My chance came right after I finished the Lord's Prayer. The Lady Rochford had left, and along with her the priest to see her out. There was a door to the right of the altar; I had seen two guards go past minutes ago. It was just as the Lady de Winter described.

The corridor was dark and uninviting, and I could make out narrow steps in front of me, along with the faint echo of a man screaming. _Courage, young one_, a voice called from inside me. I absentmindedly nodded. For a few minutes I felt my way down the stairs, both my arms spread out against the thin walls on either side of me to keep me from falling. It went quite deep into the Tower. The screaming echo grew louder, and many more voices were heard.

Finally, a faint light reached my eyes. Just twenty feet below the spiral staircase stopped, and a torch lit up a door. Presumably leading into the torture chamber. I sighed, and gently peeped into the open top of the door. Blackness. I opened the door softly, and stepped inside. I walked a few feet blindly, quietly, waiting to hear a voice. I was in a corridor that led to three other doors. I heard footsteps, and quickly hid behind a large barrel in the dark. A door closed, and two figures came out.

"His Majesty will not be happy. That was a complete waste of our time," an annoyed voice stated. It was my husband.

"Oh I wouldn't be too sure of that," the other man said, and I felt a shutter down my spine. My father sounded almost cheery.

"He did not reveal anything about the Bruce's army. And now you have made sure he will never say anything else."

I heard my father guffaw. "Sometimes I think I could have found a brighter suitor for my daughter, Robert. I did not expect much from this one. We now know that the Bruce is aware of our plans to invade, and our numbers. We can certainly use this to our advantage. I will inform the king of this. You must ride out to the Earl of Pembroke. The Bruce will now be expecting his attack, and will counterattack. The element of surprise is past. We must gather our forces sooner than expected, and ride out to meet you. In the meantime…."

I listened as my father told Baron de Clifford of how Pembroke should attack the Bruce's forces while the English arrive. I kept low and hidden, hoping desperately my heart was not as loud as it felt in my chest. Soon they left, walking right past me without noticing.

After a minute, I stole into the doorway where they had exited from, and I felt my knees give way.

He was lying in the center of a Rack, a torture device I had heard my father frequently used on his victims. From ten feet away I could see one of his arms was dislocated, and his left leg was barely hanging off his body. But that was not the worst. My father had had his sport with him, and used boiling water against his flesh. His mouth was slit open. I let out a gasp, trying desperately not to throw up.

I had thought him dead, but at the sound my gasp he opened one eye slightly, and looked to the source of the noise. I tried to come closer, but fear prevented me from moving. A noise escaped him, and it was then that courage took me. I slowly walked up to him, seeing firsthand the ooze of raw flesh and blood covering his almost naked body.

"Oh Talbot," I whispered, tears running down my face. I could not touch him, for I knew that would bring unbearable pain. "I'm going to get you out of here." The words were useless, and both of us knew it. I reached inside my pocket, grasping the thing I did not want to bring.

Before I left for the Tower, I had brought it along as a last resort. In the back of my head I knew it was going to be like this. My hand shook as I brought it out of my pocket and showed it to him. "I…I don't know if I can…I don't think I'm strong enough…" I blubbered, but looking down into his eyes I realized this was the only thing I could do for my friend. Everything else was futile. I opened the vile, and gently let the drops of liquid fall into his mouth. I waited until I was sure he had some of it swallow.

"You have done well, my friend," I whispered. His body began to convulse, and his mouth gargled as he lay, his eyes widening. It was over within seconds, and with the last beat of his heart his eyes lay staring at me, even as life already left his broken body.

I felt my own body shaking. "I will miss you dearly," I said. I placed the vile back in my pocket, and left the torture chamber. I was not noticed as I came back up into the chapel, nor did anyone follow me as I left the Tower. I did not stop until I reached my own chambers at the palace. Robert was not there, and I angrily yelled at Sarah to leave me. Yet still I could not let grief take me. Instead, I went straight to my bed, knowing tomorrow I would have to leave England.

/

I was informed at dawn by Robert's manservant that he had left urgently in the middle of the night, and he would send word when he could. I nodded, grateful that he had left quickly. This would mean less questions to my own escape.

I informed Sarah that I needed a holiday from court life, and wished to retire to the Baron de Clifford's country estate while my husband was away. As she got my clothes ready, a knock appeared at our door. Sarah answerd, and told me it was a servant sent with a message from the queen.

"The Queen?" I repeated, and tore the letter away from her. Seeing Sarah looking curious, I said, "Would you be so kind as to collect the tapestry in the next room? I do not want to leave it in the city."

As she left, I opened the note. It was written in French. My heart pumped faster and faster. "I went to visit our mutual lady friend last night and she informed me of your troubles. Present this card enclosed and seek an audience with me today. Do not leave."

The Queen was known for her trustworthy nature, and wisdom. By having me request an audience instead of vice versa, it could not implicate her in any matter that came from this moment forward. I had not yet met the Queen, though I had seen her in the dining hall a few times from afar. She tried to stay as far from her husband as possible.

A few hours later I was dressed in my finest gown of green velvet and gold threading, and presented my card to the guards next to the Queen's Presence Chamber. I bowed before her, keeping my head down.

"Leave us alone." She stated, her voice calm but firm. The guards bowed and left the chamber.

I lifted my head, and stared at the regal figure before me. She was seventeen years my senior, but her body remained slim, her face hardened with childbirth and years of exile from His Majesty. After Wallace was killed, he had confined her to the Norfolk lands for her lying in, but after her son was born, the child was taken to London while she was to remain in the country for several years. The despair of losing her child to have it grow up with her monster of a husband had left her looking weathered, yet still beautiful.

"Come closer," she commanded, and I obeyed. I looked up at her, wanting desperately to trust her, to confide in her, but still kept my mind distant.

She smiled. "You are the daughter of the Butcher of Perth." My father had retained many titles, some nicknames designated for his cunning, others for his cruelty.

Not quite sure what she meant by the referral, I quickly countered, "Yes, Your Majesty. Daughter to the Rapist of Edinburgh, Wife to the Widower of England's Foes…seeking an audience with Longshanks' daughter-in-law." Many would have considered this statement an insult to the royal family. The only people who called the king's father Longshanks had been the Scottish supporters. I was making a daring move, explicitly defending my allegiance to the Bruce and declaring my own family as enemies.

Her mouth broke into a smile, and she got up from her throne, and stood in front of me, clasping my right hand. "Oh, Lady Aris," she whispered, "When Lady Reston informed me of your…views…I felt my years of loneliness instantly evaporate. Come, let us walk in the garden and speak freely, here is not the safest place for prying ears…"

Minutes later, we were outside and walking, arm an arm in a sign of a queen's affection. Personally I thought the shock of me was the reason she held on to me so tight. It had been a long time since she could speak of such things.

"Your capture produced quite a gossip at court those many months ago. I myself confess I did not expect them to return the daughter of the Earl of Gloucester unharmed. But here you are, and in their employ no less. I wonder how that was managed."

"Is it so hard to envision a person willing to stand up for what is right?"

She smiled again. "Your words are true, Lady Aris. In fact, it is harder than you realize. But I see you know what it feels like to be married to a killer of good, honest men."

"Your Majesty, I must be plain. Recent events make it imperative that I rejoin the Scottish with all the knowledge I possess. I am humbled by your words, and it…it is nice to know I am not alone in this country. I must know what you want of me."

"A man once told me he saw much strength in me…you remind me of him. Tell me something, Aris…is it a man you fight this passionately for? Risking your life for?"

The question caught me off guard, and I quickly looked around to make sure no one was nearby. I turned to face her. "For a time, that might have been true. But that is in the past, and my quest has more to do with an oath I took long ago to end my father's tyranny."

"I see." She grabbed her stomach, and let her fingers caress the lilies that surrounded us. "You may think you can bury the past, but its ghosts come to haunt you from time to time. It was close to twenty years ago that I met the man that captured my heart. He is long dead, but sometimes I feel as if he is right beside me, beckoning me to remain existing in this world of pain and suffering. For what purpose I know not, for life without him…is like a life without light. I lost him to this place. And ever since I have been but a shell of my former self, doing only what I can to ease the sufferings of my husband's people."

"William would be proud of you," I said, squeezing her hand.

She stiffened at the mention of his name. "I thought…I thought that the birth of our son would hold me together, for if I could see William in his son it would be like he never left me. But Edward has kept him from me…and the boy prince you see today has no qualities his real father possessed. In that regard, Longshanks has won."

She looked back at me. "Yet I remained. To what purpose I knew not…until I heard of you. To know that William's dream is within reach…I knew I must play one more hand."

She indicated we sit on a bench. "My husband has summoned 20,000 men to fight the Scottish. You can catch your husband if you leave now. I can give you several of my horses and French guardsmen to watch you, and give you documents of safe passage."

"Thank you, your Majesty," I said, overwhelmed with joy. "I don't know what to say."

She smiled, "You have given me more than you will ever know, Lady Aris. I have already told your husband's servants to go on without you to the Baron's estates. You must leave now."

We both got up, and the Queen of England embraced me. "Find your man, Aris. Our lives are full of such fleeting moments, we must allow our hearts to breathe. Good luck."

I/

t is a hard week's ride to Stirling by horse, and Robert de Clifford was nearly two days ahead of me. I had to reach the Bruce before he reached Pembroke's forces. It seemed an impossible feat.

We slept little, and I barely talked. The French guards asked little questions, and for that I was grateful. I ate very little, my stomach still lurching from the sites I had seen at the Tower. I knew de Clifford had left his forces with Edward II and was traveling alone with his squire; a broad shouldered youth by the name of Will Somerset. That meant he was traveling light and fast.

By the fifth night, we could see Pembroke's encampment about two miles ahead. I knew without a doubt Robert had reached them. Tomorrow they would move their forces to the plan my father had devised. But no one knew I held the key to such knowledge.

I would not let the three Frenchmen rest, and together we pressed on through the night, changing horses and attire. We would soon be entering Scottish territory, and it would not do to get killed by the people I was trying to protect.

The first night, I had made the French guards copy my letter to the Bruce devising my own plan and knowledge of the English. I knew at some point we would be split up, and it was necessary incase any of us were killed that one of us would be able to reach the Scots.

I had changed out of my dress attire some time before, and now I took comfort in the fact that a man's tunic and leggings were much more to my liking on a horse. Speaking only in French, I conveyed to my companions that now was the time to part ways, and godspeed.

Unsure of exactly where the Bruce would situate his attack, or counterattack, I took the northeast road. One of the Frenchmen, Jean Pierre Lautrec, refused to leave me, and said he had orders from the queen to accompany me no matter what happened.

We were a day's ride to Stirling. That was where the bulk of the Scottish army would be. As we rode on a throbbing sensation shot through me. What was I to do….what was I to say when I saw Patrick?

_By then he might be married_, a voice crept into my thoughts. Damn this, I have a job to do.

"Halt in the name if the king!" A voice called from behind us. I pulled on my reigns, and Jean did the same. Turning our horses around, we saw three English guards riding toward us. My eyes widened, but I tried to gulp in my fear.

"We are on important business, and request passage, gentlemen," I said.

The one who had spoken was a portly fellow, but his companions were tall and broad chested. The one to his right held his hand against his sheathed sword tilt.

"You do realize we are in the middle of a bloody war don't you? You're embarking on enemy territory."

"I have been given safe passage documentation from Her Majesty the Queen." Suddenly the letter to Robert the Bruce felt heavy in my bag.

"I don't care if you are the f-ing queen herself, I am to let no one pass."

I smiled sweetly, "If you would be so kind, good sir, my cousin lives in Argyll, and has been very sick-"

Jean-Pierre dismounted and handed him our documentation, and the guard threw it to the ground. "Get down now, milady. We have our orders as well."

I looked to my French guard, and he to me. We could not afford to be searched. I nodded, and Jean Pierre unsheathed his sword, sticking it through the fat guard's horse. The horse whinnied and fell, the English guard falling as well. The other two horses, scared by the commotion, reared as their riders tried to control them. "Go, milady!" Lautrec shouted, raising his sword to the second guard.

I kicked my horse, spurring him forward. I could not look back, but just kept my face forward, my grip on the reigns tight. Something whizzed by my shoulder, and lodged itself in the nearest tree. The third guard let loose another arrow, this time catching the back leg of my horse. Down she fell, with me with her. I hit the ground hard on my side, rolling away. Hands grabbed my arms, and before I could protest my hands were being tied together. I wrestled, to no avail. They walked me back to their horses, the body of Lautrec lying beside the killed mare. The portly guard limped along, but kept a tight grip on my arm. Soon they would learn of my identity and purpose.

The guard who had tried to shoot me lifted me up onto his horse, and together we rode toward the English camp. To my husband.


End file.
